


Salvage

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8066926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Trying to restore a friendship. Set during Season 2. (03/30/2004)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers: 1.12 "Silent Enemy," 1.16 "Shuttlepod One," 1.24 "Desert Crossing," 2.03 "Minefield,"2.08 "The Communicator," 2.12 "The Catwalk."  
  
This is a sequel to "Loss." I thought there was more story to be told, and couldn't stop wondering what happened next. You can follow the story without reading "Loss" first, but you'll wonder about some stuff, so this is fair warning. Set before the second season finale.  
  
This was beta'ed by A. who did an amazing job. You have no idea how much she improved this story. Absolutely fabulous beta reader. The mistakes are mine for continuing to mess with it.  


* * *

The hot spray pounded Trip's body, relaxing his tight muscles and driving away the mud. He tipped his head forward, letting the water strike his neck and work its magic there, before tilting it back to rinse away the shampoo. He took a deep breath, inhaling the steam. There was something about standing in a near scalding shower when you were really, really dirty. Hot showers always felt good, but the dirtier you were at the start, the more coated in grime, the more exhausted, the better the shower felt. To follow that up by collapsing into bed, letting weary muscles melt into the mattress—well, it was one of the more under appreciated pleasures in life.

He hadn't expected to get so dirty. Sweaty and tired, yes. Filthy, no. After all, what were the odds that he'd get so muddy on a simple hike? On the Nexallian map, the climb had looked simple. Five kilometers up a path, not too steep a grade, and then another kilometer along a ridge to the waterfall. Just downstream from the falls was a reputedly excellent fishing spot. With no reason to anticipate trouble, he and Malcolm had purchased fishing poles at the trading station and boarded the station-to-planet transit. The ride had been short, and within an hour they were on the path. What hadn't been obvious on the map was that the route was neither smooth nor in good repair. Reaching the waterfall, and then the fishing spot, had required crawling over, under, and around a variety of obstacles. At one point, they'd slithered on their bellies under a fallen tree.

Admittedly, the waterfall had been worth every bit of the effort it took to reach it. Trip had seen some incredible waterfalls on Earth, but the falls on Nexal were the most impressive he'd encountered. The water fell hundreds of meters; the pounding on the rocks below, created a mist that reached all the way back up to the viewing site. The tiny droplets of water had settled on him, creating a thin film of mud out of the dust already coating him. The engineer in Trip couldn't help but think of all the things that could be powered by the tremendous amount of stored energy. He could envision a large city powered by the falling water, envisioning the schematics of the powerplants that would convert the energy for in lights, transports and powerplants. It would be an engineering marvel, but it would destroy the natural beauty of the area. The Nexallians chose, instead, to preserve the magnificent beauty of the site. As they'd hiked through the preserve, Trip had been glad of the Nexallian's decision.

* * *

"Catching anything?" Trip gave up on the spot he was fishing and moved downstream, closer to where Malcolm was casting his line.

Malcolm shook his head and offered a half-smile. "Not so much as a nibble. I haven't fished in years, but I don't remember my luck every being so poor."

"Whatcha using for bait?"

"These rather smelly little balls of goo. The man at the trading station said they're very effective on both lake and stream fish on this part of the planet."

Trip had no idea what might be effective bait on Nexal, so he just nodded wisely. "Ah. Well, I'm using this live bait the other guy was selling. But I haven't had much luck either. It's too bad—I was hoping for some fresh fish. I'm sure Chef could find a recipe for Nexallian trout."

Malcolm reeled in his line to check the hook. Finding it empty, he deftly re-baited it, and cast out again. "Something is getting a free meal. That's the third time I've found an empty hook.

"Are you sure you're getting the bait on real secure?"

Malcolm shot him a look. "Of course I'm sure, Commander. I do know how to bait a hook."

Trip took a step back, raising his hands in a warding off, placating gesture. "All right, all right! Just asking!

Malcolm relented. "I'm not feeling anything taking the bait either. I wonder..." he leaned his rod against a tree and took some of the bait in his fingers. Walking to the edge of the water he knelt down and placed his hand in it. His eyes narrowed.

"What is it?" Trip joined him at the edge of the water.

"That bloody idiot..."

"What?"

"Look!" Malcolm gestured at his hand. The bait had disappeared, completely dissolved in the water. "The bait falls apart in the water. No wonder the damn stuff won't stay on the hook." He rose and strode back to his rod and began reeling it in. "I've been fishing the whole bloody day without any bait on the hook!"

Trip snorted. He covered his mouth, trying to stifle the laugh, but couldn't. The image of Malcolm patiently waiting for a fish to nibble his empty hook was just too funny. He snorted again, and it turned into a cough, which turned into a choking sound. Malcolm looked at him, at first with concern, and then when he realized the reason Trip couldn't breathe, with considerably less sympathy.

"It isn't funny."

"Yes," Trip could barely speak, he was trying so hard not to laugh. "It is."

Malcolm studied him, and finally cracked a small smile. "I suppose it is."

Trip managed to regain some control. "Would you like to try some of this live bait? It stays...on the...hook," he managed. Unable to contain himself, he burst into a full laugh. After a moment, Malcolm joined in.

* * *

"Your bait did, indeed, stay on the hook," Malcolm commented as they began packing up the gear and preparing to hike down the mountain. "As compared to inside the mouths of the fish, where I was hoping it might go."

Trip tensed at the perceived criticism, but when he glanced at Malcolm he saw the barest hint of a smile, and knew he was being teased. "I'm sorry! They said this was a no-fail fishing spot." He shrugged. "I guess we just didn't have luck with us today."

"It's fine, Commander. It was a nice outing anyway. Really, a lovely day." Malcolm reassured him.

Trip had tried, really tried, to come up with a fun way of spending the afternoon on the planet. Something that was relaxing, and unlikely to remind them of the last time they'd gone planet-side together. And, for the most part, he'd succeeded. There had been a brief disagreement when, after a few hours of futility, Trip had suggested renting a boat to fish further out on the lake. Malcolm had, without explanation, firmly vetoed the plan, and Trip had been irked at his crewmate's refusal to even consider the idea. For a brief period, there had been the danger of a full-blown argument, but Trip had backed down. He had continued to make mumbled comments throughout the afternoon about how the deeper water was certain to hold a treasure trove of fish, but the grumbling was good natured. Other than that mini-conflict, the day had been uneventful. If it had been awkward at times, Trip could live with that.

Gathering their equipment together, unburdened by any fish, they made the hike back to the station-to-planet transit departure pad as Trip invented "fish stories" he planned to tell the crew to explain their empty hands. Malcolm just listened.

* * *

On a starship showers had to be short-lived luxuries so Trip found his allotted time ending before he'd had the chance to fully enjoy it. Toweling off, Trip rolled his shoulders; even after the hot water, his muscles were stiffening from the unaccustomed exertions. He really needed to resume his fitness routine, he thought. A slight twinge over his ribs reminded him why he had abandoned it. It momentarily sobered him. He tried to push the thought away, but couldn't help wondering how Malcolm was faring; perhaps he should have picked something less strenuous. After all, the armory officer hadn't been working out recently either. Was Malcolm sitting in his quarters, aching and sore, blaming him for the discomfort? With an effort, Trip forced that line of thinking out of his mind; there was nothing to be gained by pursuing it, and his imaginings were unlikely to be true. Today had gone well, he told himself. It hadn't been perfect, but it had been a first step.

Trip had been nervous about the outing. He'd wanted to go to the planet's surface, and was glad to have a companion to fish with, but that hadn't been his true motivation. The fishing trip had been a chance to do something with Malcolm away from the ship. It had been fun, but his crewmate had been a little quiet, a little distant. Oh, he'd been polite, and had even tried to hold up his end of the conversation, but at times the chatter had felt forced—they were doing this because they should. The natural camaraderie they had once shared was still missing. Maybe the awkwardness was normal, Trip reflected. After all, on the ship they had their jobs and other duties to fall back on, a built in source of conversation. On the planet, it had only been the two of them; the onus was on them to keep the conversation going. And that, Trip had discovered, was not an easy task.

He couldn't remember ever having so much difficulty making conversation. So many topics held potential danger—things they didn't want to comment on, for fear of where the conversation might lead, what memories might be invoked. They had steered the discussion away from anything even remotely threatening...and that didn't really leave very much to talk about. There was an elephant in the living room, but no one was mentioning it.

* * *

Malcolm couldn't scream anymore. His throat had simply stopped making sound, the abused vocal cords so swollen they could no longer vibrate properly against one another, yet he was unable to stop trying to make the noise as his body protested the abuse. They wanted answers, but how was he going to be able to speak? He writhed in pain, as the hot poker touched his skin, scalding his flesh, marring it. He was no longer aware of the tears streaming from his eyes; he was unable to control them and they were the least of his concerns.

"Are you sure you don't have something you'd like to share with us, Mr. Reed?" a voice taunted.

He did have something he wanted to tell. Anything they wanted to know, as a matter of fact. But he couldn't—his ship, his friends, would be in danger. His head was fuzzy and he knew he was about to lose consciousness. He longed for the surcease of the pain that unconsciousness would bring but it was denied him; a harsh slap and a sluicing of ice cold water brought him back to unpleasant reality.

"You're sure you don't have anything to say?" the Dorlogian's voice dripped with false concern. "I can't imagine you'd like to go on with this. Nothing to share? No? All right then, I guess we'll keep going."

He gasped for breath, desperate. The poker came down again, hit another tender piece of skin. He was unable to see, his rapidly swelling eyes having finally closed, and not being able to see what was coming fed his fear.

"Really, Mr. Reed. I would think you could give me just a bit of information. One question. Just answer one question for me."

Malcolm nodded agreement. He hadn't meant to. His head moved, seemingly on its own, as his body betrayed him in a desperate ploy to survive.

"Very well."

A cup was held to his lips. He swallowed eagerly, and then nearly spat the bitter liquid out.

"I know it's not very nice, but it should reduce the swelling in your throat a little. For now." And it had. Within five minutes, Malcolm could speak enough to form soft words.

Ten minutes later he'd known he was a traitor.

After he answered the first question, they asked another, and then another. He answered them all, struggling to keep his head, to not sink into the dark depths of panic. He wanted to stop talking, to catch his breath and regroup, but having achieved a tiny respite from the pain, he was unable to gather the strength needed to face it again. He knew that refusing to answer would bring back the agony and this time he feared it would pull him under, stealing his sanity. He tried to slow the interrogation, but it was futile—when he hesitated they simply raised the hot poker, letting him hear the hiss of steam, and he began speaking rapidly once more.

* * *

Reed woke with a start and sat up, his eyes moving rapidly as he scanned the small room. He was soaked with sweat and his heart was racing. Recognizing his quarters, he managed a deep breath and lay back down, tense muscles slowly relaxing at the realization that he'd been dreaming. It was several minutes more before his heart stopped pounding.

He shifted in his bunk, trying to get comfortable, sore from the day's exertions. He wondered if it was this discomfort, or the fact that he had spent the whole day with Trip, that had caused the nightmare—he hadn't had one in two weeks, and had thought they were a thing of the past. Restless, he rose and went to the sink to splash his face with cool water, rinsing away the perspiration. He downed a glass of cold water before returning to bed, hoping to sleep but knowing he probably wouldn't; the dream lingered, and the reawakened memories threatened to keep him awake.

Malcolm had been able to forgive himself for answering that first question, gradually coming to understand that it had been a matter of survival. It was answering the questions that followed that had taken him longer to come to terms with. He thought he had managed to put it behind him, but his disrupted sleep indicated otherwise. He thumped his pillow, and then hit it again for good measure, before turning it cool side up and beginning the age-old ritual of counting sheep.


	2. Chapter 2

Malcolm yawned. Snapping his mouth shut, he glanced around the bridge to see if anyone had noticed. From the corner of his eye Archer saw the yawn, the third one this morning. It was almost humorous how hard the armory officer was working to hide his sleepiness. Archer was tempted to ask Malcolm if he needed some tea to stay awake, but wasn't sure if it would be taken as a joke or as a reprimand. Archer couldn't blame the armory officer. It had been unusually quiet on the bridge this morning. Archer hid a grin as Malcolm stifled yet another yawn, just as Hoshi spoke.

"We're being hailed, sir."

"Who is it?" Archer asked, leaning forward in his chair.

Hoshi held up a finger, indicating that he should wait a moment; she was still listening. After several seconds she said, "I'm not sure who is sending the message, but the language is familiar. Give me a moment to clean it up. I should be able to give you a translation soon."

There was near silence on the bridge as most of the bridge crew watched Hoshi, waiting for the translation. But Malcolm broke the silence first. "Sir, I'm detecting something as well. There is a rather large energy signature, coming from..." he hesitated, tapped a key on his console, and then continued "...a system several...about four...light years away." He frowned, trying to make the readings tell him more. When he looked up and spoke again, his voice was crisp, all signs of sleepiness gone. "Sir, I think Commander Tucker should take a look at these readings as well."

"What are you seeing, Lieutenant?" Archer stood and moved toward the tactical station.

"I'm not certain, sir, but I think—" Malcolm shook his head before continuing. "No, it's not possible..." Malcolm went back to manipulating the controls of his station, trying to clarify the readings.

"Report, Lieutenant!"

"Sir, I'm not certain. These energy signatures...they're enormous. I can't imagine what they might be powering that requires that much focused energy. It doesn't seem possible, but these energy signatures appear to match ours. Starfleet's that is. Or I thought they did, but the match isn't perfect." Malcolm didn't look up as he spoke.

"Explain."

Malcolm finally looked up and shrugged. "I can't, sir. They simply don't make any sense."

He was saved further discussion by the arrival of the ship's chief engineer. Trip moved to the tactical station and looked over Malcolm's shoulder. "What have you got here, Malcolm—" he broke off, staring at the monitor. "Whoa! That isn't possible!"

"That's what I said!"

"When did you pick these up?" Trip asked.

"Roughly five minutes ago. I've been trying everything I know to determine what could do this, and I haven't been able to come up with any ideas."

"Hmmm," Trip leaned forward on the console, studying the screen. After several minutes of silence he looked up and met Malcolm's eyes. "Is it possible?"

Malcolm shrugged. "I don't see how, but I have no alternatives to suggest."

"Gentlemen, would you care to let me in on the secret?" Archer asked, "Or do I need to come up there and figure it out myself?"

"No, Captain. It's just kinda hard to believe," Trip said. "I don't know how it's possible, but these readings...they aren't from a Starfleet energy source, but they mimic one. Whatever this thing is, the energy it generates could run our equipment. It just defies the odds that we would find this out here."

"I'm not following," Archer admitted.

Malcolm explained. "Sir, all our equipment was designed to work from the same energy sources—makes it easier. That way we don't need different sources of power for each piece of equipment. The same generator that powers the computers, for instance, could power the resequencers, the lights, and the weapons, virtually everything on board. Interchangeable. Now, all those different types of equipment couldn't work off the same raw source, since they have different demands, so they're run through adaptors, to make the same power source work for them all. Well, the adaptors give off an electro- magnetic signature when they convert the energy, which is virtually identical in all the equipment. There are some minor differences, but they are all recognizable as being from the same energy source. But there's nothing special about the signature. It's just how Starfleet designed the adaptors. There is absolutely no reason to think any other species, or culture, would have the exact same type of adaptor, and so have the same signature. The odds against it are just astronomical."

"But this—whatever you're reading—does?" Archer asked.

"Yes," Trip and Malcolm replied simultaneously.

"Well, not exactly the same, but close. Real close," Trip added. Both officers continued studying the monitor.

"Damn," Trip said finally. He continued manipulating his instruments, trying to get the tactical station to give him more information. Beside him, Malcolm looked up from the readings.

"Captain, with your permission, I'd like to check something in the armory."

"Good idea," Trip said to the armory officer.

"Permission granted." Archer said, wishing he knew what they were thinking.

"Captain." Hoshi's voice was pitched slightly higher than usual. Distracted by the odd readings, Archer had nearly forgotten she was working on a translation. He turned to look at her and saw that her eyes were wide.

"Yes, Ensign?"

"Sir, I think it's a sales pitch!"

* * *

In his ready room, Archer listened to the message for the third time. It chilled him as much as it had the first two. Trip and Malcolm remained silent as the message replayed.

"Croellian Industries announces the newest in Protection Technology. Available on a limited basis, this unique technology was imported from a distant sector. It will provide the buyer with a distinct advantage against any attacker. Fully integrated into weapons and defense systems, the technological specifications will be sold to the highest bidder. Contact Croellian Industries for a demonstration of this unique weaponry."

The message continued for another moment in the same vein, giving details on how to arrange for a demonstration, and then, according to Hoshi, it repeated. She had informed Archer that the language was a dialect of Dorlogian; once she had recognized it she had been able to translate it easily, and had updated the Universal Translator with the variation. The message had been broadcast in an encrypted form, but the Enterprise sensors and decryption protocols were more sophisticated than those on Dorlog; they had been able to pick up the message that was obviously meant for other ears.

Archer looked at the two officers. "Gentlemen—it's obvious you have an idea about this. I need your thoughts."

"It's ours," Malcolm stated grimly.

Archer turned to him. He'd suspected as much, but needed more confirmation. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," Malcolm said. "Well, not exactly ours. According to our readings from that power source, it comes from a generator that creates energy that could power our equipment—including our weapons. There would be no point in doing that unless they have weapons or equipment that could use that power. Any weapons that could use the same energy sources and adaptors as ours—well they'd have to be remarkably similar. Too similar to be a coincidence. When I went to the armory, I ran some simulations. There is no doubt that our weapons could be powered off that energy source."

Trip had been standing with his hands on his hips, studying the deck plating, thinking. Now he spoke. "Captain, say I'd never seen the weapons on Enterprise before. If somebody handed them to me and told me to make 'em work...whatever I came up with to power them would almost certainly put out an energy signature that looked like this. Combined with that message we just heard...well, there isn't much doubt."

"Someone is powering Starfleet weapons, or something remarkably similar—probably a mixture of their weapons, combined with some of our technology to improve them. Of course, until I get a closer look at those weapons, I can't say for sure, but the odds..." Malcolm's voice trailed off.

The three men sat in silence, contemplating this new turn of events. Trip finally broke the silence. "So who is doing this? And where did they get Starfleet technology? Now, we haven't gone missing any equipment or weapons off Enterprise that I know of, so we know they didn't reverse engineer this thing."

"I think we all know the answer to that," Malcolm said. He looked at Archer and then Trip in turn. "The question is what are we going to do about it?"

"Malcolm, I don't think we can assume that—" Trip began.

"Commander, think about it," Malcolm interrupted. "It's the only rational explanation. As you just said, we haven't misplaced any of Enterprise's weapons, or any other equipment that I'm aware of. That only leaves one possibility."

Archer absorbed this information, and then brought up his other concern. "Malcolm, would we be able to defend ourselves against our own weapons, if they were used against us?"

"If they used our exact weapons against us, we'd be able to defend ourselves. That isn't really the concern. The real problem is that once they know about our weapons and our defenses—which are pretty easy to predict, based on our weaponry—it wouldn't be difficult to modify their weapons to defeat our defenses. Of course, that assumes when we power the hull polarization we're working off a power source that used the same energy signature. Ours doesn't—anymore. Or at least, it doesn't have to." He looked, just slightly, pleased.

"Go on," Archer said.

"After Dorlog, I did some work on the hull, remember?"

Archer and Trip both nodded. It would have been hard to forget. While working on the upgrades, Malcolm had continually activated the tactical alert to test his upgrades; the noise had been irksome and had wreaked havoc on the crew's nerves, until Archer had made him cease the testing until he had deactivated the siren.

Malcolm didn't meet their eyes. "Well, I wasn't sure what might be done with the information the Dorlogians obtained, so I took the precaution of adding a subroutine that modifies the incoming energy frequency. That changes the polarization frequency slightly. I haven't shown it to Commander Tucker yet," he admitted. "It takes nearly double the normal amount of energy, because a lot is lost in the process of transforming it; it isn't very efficient. I left the program in the computer, but it doesn't automatically activate when there is a tactical alert. It has to be put on-line manually. I haven't finished testing it, and it won't make a huge difference—but at least it removes the advantage they might have had from knowing our weapons and power source."

"What about the other upgrades you were working on?" Archer asked.

"Oh, they would help some. They polarize the hull more quickly, and make it a little stronger. In this situation, that won't matter much. We have to make sure that they don't figure out the new polarization frequency."

"Malcolm's right," Trip said. "We have to change the polarization to an entirely different frequency, probably take his adaptations another step. I'd like to look at that subroutine. And I think we should start running the tests."

"The sooner the better," Malcolm agreed.

"It would sure help if we knew exactly what kinds of weapons they've made," Trip said, thinking aloud, not expecting any response. "Then we wouldn't have to worry about trying to defend against everything."

Archer hesitated for a moment before going to his computer. He pulled two blank padds from his desk, and then with a few keystrokes, he downloaded information to each padd. "Remember when I told you that Commandant Cournic from Dorlog had contacted me with news of Director Corzac's arrest? He also sent this. It's the information on our technology that they found in the Director's possession. If, in fact, the weapons being referred to are ours, and were built based on information from Dorlog, this is the information that would have been available."

Trip and Malcolm were staring at Archer, taken by surprise that the captain had this information.

"We don't know, for a fact, that any of this information was ever released," Archer reminded them. "The Dorlogian authorities were unsure." Archer handed each of them a padd, and then waited while they read.

The padds held sanitized versions of a transmission Archer had received from Dorlog shortly after his officers had been returned to his custody. He had deleted the original transmission from the Starfleet database, but as a safeguard he had kept a copy in his private database. The padds Trip and Reed held contained a list of technological information about Enterprise weapons and engines that had fallen into the hands of a Dorlogian criminal. They were not copies of the original report as it had been transmitted to Archer—that version had been complete with the details of the interrogations the men had endured. The captain knew that even these sanitized versions had to be stirring up unpleasant memories.

Malcolm's lips were pressed together into a thin white line and he had gone very still as he read the padd, but he remained composed. Next to him, Trip swore softly as he read. Malcolm glanced up at the muttering, then returned his attention to his own padd. He finished first and lay it down on the table, waiting for Trip to finish reading. "Well. That certainly gives us a starting point, doesn't it?" Malcolm's voice was brittle.

"If that was the information they had available to them, then there are only a few Starfleet-type weapons they could have created—unless they have some extremely gifted engineers who were able to make some big leaps," Trip said. "I doubt they understand the underlying principals well enough to make too huge of strides."

"There is a rather large piece of equipment putting out a huge amount of energy that I'd consider a pretty strong testimonial to their abilities. I don't think we should underestimate them," Malcolm replied tersely.

"I agree with Lieutenant Reed," Archer said. "I don't think we should underestimate this...syndicate. How long will it take you to determine what sort of weapons they might have, based on the information they had to start with, and the readings from that power source? And how long to devise defenses against them, and get the new upgrades on line?"

"Not too long. Maybe two days?" Trip ventured.

Malcolm was still studying the padd. Looking up he added, "Yes, sir. That sounds about right."

"Get to it," Archer told them. "I'd like to have that information available when we get there."

They had been moving toward the door but Archer's words stopped them. Both turned to look at him.

"Get there, Captain?" Trip asked. Malcolm tipped his head, questioning.

"They have Starfleet technology, gentlemen, and they plan to sell it to the highest bidder. That isn't going to happen."


	3. Chapter 3

Malcolm tossed the padd onto the table by his bed and sank down on to his bunk, thinking he might close his eyes for just a moment. He had spent the entire afternoon working with Trip to get the new upgrades implemented and tested. They had worked in near silence, both of them tense, both of them feeling responsible for the potential danger to the ship. It had been a powerful motivator; they had accomplished far more in a short time than he would have expected. They only needed to work out a few minor details—by tomorrow evening the upgrades would be completed.

In the days immediately following the ordeal on Dorlog, Malcolm had lived with the fear that information he had provided would be used against Enterprise. As time had passed and they had cleared Dorlogian space, the fear had faded to worry, and then to just an occasional nagging thought. It had been days since such a possibility had even occurred to him. As his mind had eased, he had stopped working on the upgrades. He had neglected to follow through with the final testing, in large part because at the time he hadn't wanted to work with Trip, an absolute requirement to implementing the changes. Eventually the daily demands of his job had pushed aside his work on the defensive improvements; he knew he had them in reserve, should they be needed. Now, it looked like it was possible they might be, and he mentally kicked himself for having neglected them for so long. His exhaustion today was fair penalty for his lack of attention to such an important project, he thought.

Crawling around in the bowels of the ship always made him feel grimy. The access tubes really weren't very dirty, but it was strenuous work in one of the warmest parts of the ship, and he always felt disheveled afterwards. He rose and headed slowly to the small bathroom, working his uniform off as he moved. He finished undressing while waiting for the water temperature to become as hot as he could stand it, finally stepping in, hoping the steaming water would relax him enough that he would sleep without dreaming. As the hot water pounded his body, his tense muscles loosened and the nearly scalding liquid washed away not just the sweat and grime, but his tension as well.

* * *

"Captain, can I talk to you?" Trip stood just outside Archer's quarters, poking his head in.

"Sure, Trip." Archer swung his legs over the side of his bed, where he'd been reclining while reading a report, and sat up. "What can I do for you?"

Trip hesitated. "I feel kind of funny asking this, Captain...but how did you know what information these...well, whoever they are...had? Where'd you get it?"

"From Dorlog. The Commandant sent it to me. I told you that, Trip." Archer studied his friend. There was more to the question. Archer waited.

"Where'd he get it?"

"The Commandant?" Archer asked. Trip nodded.

"From the Director who questioned you." Archer deliberately used the non-offensive term 'questioned', although it was a poor description of what had occurred.

"When they arrested him."

It was a statement, but Archer answered anyway. "Yes."

Archer knew Trip already knew all this and wondered where the questions were leading.

"Like that? I mean, just one list of technological specifications?"

"Not exactly like that," Archer replied carefully. "Why, Trip?"

"That all the information they got?"

"Yes."

Trip sighed. "Well, it's not as bad as it could be. There were worse things they coulda found out."

"Yes."

Trip picked up Archer's water polo ball and began bouncing it off the wall.

"Anything else I can do for you, Trip?" Archer knew the engineer wanted to say more, but couldn't yet put his questions into words.

"You're gonna send me and Malcolm on the away mission, aren't ya?"

"You're the best qualified. Weapons and a huge power source—it isn't too hard to pick who should go." Archer was matter of fact.

"Uh-huh," Trip agreed, picking up the speed with which he was tossing the ball against the wall. "What about a security team? You planning on sending anyone else?"

"We'll wait until we get closer and see what the situation is. The amount of security will be Malcolm's call."

Trip's expression revealed nothing about what was going on inside his head.

"Are you going to be okay with that, Trip?"

"Me? Sure, I'll be okay." Trip kept his attention riveted on the water polo ball. "Don't know how Malcolm's going to feel about it though."

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk, thunk, thunk. The ball was hitting the wall with increasing speed and it took all of Archer's patience not too reach out and snatch it from the engineer's hands. Instead, he asked, "How did the fishing trip go?"

"Fine. Didn't catch any fish, though." Thunk, thunk, thunk.

"Trip, stop. Sit down. Want something to drink?"

Trip stopped bouncing the ball and with a small grin feigned dusting it off before returning it to its spot on the shelf. Taking a seat across from Archer he said, "I shouldn't have anything to drink. I'm going back on duty in a little bit. I've got some stuff in engineering I've been neglecting while we worked on the upgrades. You wouldn't want my monthly reports to be late, would ya?"

"Why should this month be different?" Archer grinned at his friend.

"Ouch."

"They can be a little late, Trip. Why don't you get some sleep? You're going to need it."

Trip opened his mouth as if to reply, but then closed it, seeming to concede the point, but he still looked disturbed.

"Trip, do you want me to ask Malcolm about—"

"Won't do any good. You know how he is. He'll just act like you're crazy to ask. _Of course_ he's fine for this mission." Trip stood. "I really am tired. I think I'll hit the hay. Night, Captain."

"Goodnight, Trip."

* * *

When T'Pol first brought the report to Archer he didn't believe her. He believed she was reporting the information as she saw it, of course, but he was certain she had made a mistake, had somehow misread her scans of the planet: a malfunction in the sensors, perhaps, or a misinterpretation of the data. But the pictures were too clear, too telling.

"So, there is a pre-warp society down there that has somehow managed to suction off energy from the generator and it is using it to power their city?" Archer wanted to be sure he understood.

"Yes."

"But...that doesn't make sense. That generator can't have been there that long—a month at most. There is no way they could have taken advantage of it so quickly. It isn't possible."

"It does seem unlikely, but it would not be impossible, if their technology were capable of being adapted and they were provided assistance," T'Pol said.

"Why would they? Why would they switch off their own power sources and piggyback off this generator? It just doesn't make sense. It would seem like more effort than it would be worth—and they would have to know it was short term."

"Not necessarily."

"Explain."

"Ensign Sato has been listening to some of their broadcasts, and has managed some success at breaking into their computer systems. She and I have come up with a theory that has some evidence and is plausible."

"Go ahead."

"We believe that the people that are manufacturing and selling these weapons made an arrangement with the planet inhabitants. In exchange for the land, some manual laborers, and probably some other goods, the inhabitants would be allowed to use the generator for their needs."

"But what about when the weapons are sold?" Archer asked.

"The generator won't be needed by the weapon brokers after the demonstration period is over. I'm certain the buyers will have to provide their own source of power. The inhabitants will be able to use the generator as they desire. Right now they are simply using the excess, which is more than enough for their needs. As Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed told you, the generator is not particularly efficient. It bleeds off a great deal of excess energy—enough so that we detected it. The people of this world are only tapping into a fraction of it."

Archer ran his hand through his hair before planting his hands on his desk and leaning forward. "It makes no sense," he repeated. "What were they using for power before?"

"It appears they were using an inefficient steam system."

"This must have seemed like a gift from above to them." Archer considered this new complication; it cast everything in a new light. When he had planned to retrieve the Starfleet technology, and put an end to it's future possible use, it had been straightforward. Now, however, if they shut down and destroyed the generator they would be taking something from these people—something they had acquired honestly.

His head was beginning to hurt, a throbbing pain above his eyes that was quickly intensifying. Reaching up, he rubbed his forehead between his thumb and fingers. When this provided no relief he began rubbing his temples in a slow circular movement.

"How many people reside on this planet...and are they all using this generator for their power?"

"There are approximately two million people on the planet, and they all live in one city, approximately fifty kilometers from where the generator is located. Most of the planet is uninhabited, because of the terrain. The vegetation is very dense, much like Earth's Amazon rainforests, except at the poles. It is also quite geologically active, and has canyons that are many kilometers deep crisscrossing it. There are several large rivers. There are only a few areas flat enough to put an urban center."

'Better and better,' Archer thought. 'This just gets better and better.' He squinted at T'Pol through the pounding headache that had seized control of his entire head. Out loud he asked, "Does this planet have a name?"

"Ensign Sato says the inhabitants refer to it as 'Veric'."

Archer sighed. "Do you have any good news for me?"

T'Pol lifted her eyebrow. "I am uncertain what you would consider to be good news."

"Never mind. Just have Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed report to me."

* * *

"Climbing ropes?"

"Check."

"Auto anchoring pins?"

"Check."

"First aid kit?"

"Check."

"Backpacks?"

"Check."

Malcolm checked his list again, glancing at the neat piles forming on the launch bay floor next to the shuttlepod.

"Emergency rations?"

"Check. I even got the sea bass one for ya, Malcolm."

"Thank you. Extra water bags?"

"Check, and double check. I'm not taking any chances with water this time," Trip joked. When Malcolm didn't respond, Trip glanced over at him. The armory officer continued studying his list, and comparing it to the growing piles.

"Torches?"

"You mean flashlights?"

This finally got a reaction, as Malcolm tossed his crewmate a look.

Trip grinned. " _Torches_. Check."

"Portable shelters?"

"Check."

"Scanners, communicators, and universal translators?"

"Check, check, and check. Really, Malcolm, you've gone over that list three times now. We've got everything. For heaven's sake, let's just get going."

"Commander, it's going to take us three hours to get to the planet surface. Then we'll have to hike about thirty kilometers to that generator, or whatever it is. I don't want to get down there and find we don't have the equipment we need."

Trip shook his head but didn't say anything. He found himself hesitant to argue with Malcolm these days; he was intent on maintaining the fragile peace they had managed to forge. On some level he knew that couldn't continue, could in fact do its own sort of damage, but for right now it was the easiest path.

"Phase pistols?"

"Check. Malcolm, how many weapons do we need? You've got four phase pistols, two phase rifles, and I don't know how many fuses and blocks of explosive here!"

"We never know what we'll encounter, and I want to be prepared."

"Yeah, but between us we've only got four hands. And I'm pretty sure you've got enough explosive to take the planet out of orbit."

"We may have to destroy that generator, remove obstacles, set booby traps—"

"Booby traps! Malcolm, we're not at war! We won't be setting any booby traps, I guarantee you that!"

Malcolm looked up from his padd. "I'm sure I can find a use for it."

Trip was unsure if Malcolm was joking or not—sometimes his crewmate had an odd sense of humor. Hands on his hips he stated, "Fine. You're carrying all the extra junk. Me, I'll carry a phase pistol, and we can store the extra weapons on board the shuttlepod."

Malcolm looked at his padd one last time. "I guess that's it. I've already loaded everything else. These were the last few items."

"Good! Finally! Let's get it on board, and get out of here!"

"The captain wants to speak to us before we leave and we might as well get a last real meal from the messhall. It might be sometime before we get another."

"Fine. Want to eat or see the captain first?" Trip asked.

"I don't think we should keep the captain waiting. Let's do that first. The messhall will still be open."

* * *

At the sound of the door chime, Archer looked up from his console. He punched at the door control and it opened to admit Trip and Malcolm.

"Come in, gentlemen. How soon before you're ready to depart?" Archer stood and faced his officers.

"Now," they replied, nearly synchronously.

"Malcolm, you're certain you don't want to take any additional security personnel?" Archer asked. He had been stunned when his tactical officer, for the first time in Archer's memory, had declined the opportunity to take a full security team.

Malcolm shook his head. "No, sir." He smiled slightly. "I know this it the opposite of what I normally request, but this mission is going to require more reconnaissance than muscle. The less people the better. I'd rather have them on standby, as we've discussed. We'll contact you, and have you send a shuttle down to take up a low orbit right before we destroy the weapons. At that point our presence will have been quite dramatically announced, so there will be no need for stealth."

Archer studied them. "I don't need to remind you that it is critical that this device be deactivated. We can't have our technology being offered for sale. Do whatever it takes to make sure that the weapons, and any records, are destroyed." Archer made eye contact, first with Trip and then with Malcolm, drilling them with his gaze. "Whatever it takes."

"The generator, sir?" Malcolm asked.

"If you can leave it intact without leaving any of our technology or information, then do. But if there is any doubt, or if you don't have time to be certain, destroy it."

Trip flinched at the words, and Malcolm's jaw tightened. Archer continued, "That generator is creating energy surges that are so strong we won't be able to use the transporter to pull you out of there until it's deactivated. If you run into trouble the best we can do is bring Enterprise closer to the surface, or send another shuttlepod. Malcolm, we'll position Shuttlepod Two in low orbit when you tell me that you're ready. We'll be in constant communication, of course, so if there is any information or help we can provide, all you have to do is ask. But essentially, you're on your own." Archer softened his tone. "I want you to be as careful as you can be. The mission is critical, but take as much time as you need."

"Aye, sir," Malcolm replied.

"Don't fret, Captain. We'll take care of it," Trip added in a light tone that didn't fool anyone.

Archer studied them for another moment before dismissing them. As the door slid closed behind them, he whispered, "Good luck."


	4. Chapter 4

"How much further to the landing site?" Reed put down the padd he had been reading, and stood up to stretch.

"We're pretty close now. In a few minutes I'll take over manual control, and we can decide just where we want to set this baby down. I want to make sure we're far enough away that the energy doesn't affect the shuttle systems."

"This is really a very odd piece of equipment, isn't it? I'm rather looking forward to getting a close up peek at it," Malcolm commented.

"Hope you still think so after we get there. It's going to be quite a hike."

"Well, then, it's a good thing we came prepared, isn't it?" Malcolm replied tartly, but Trip wasn't listening.

"Okay. Scans are showing the spot T'Pol picked for us to land. Geez, it's gonna be a tight fit..."

"Is there anywhere else you can land?" Malcolm studied the dimensions of the landing spot.

"No...this really is the only clear spot we could find, that wasn't practically on top of the complex. I think I can put us down in the spot if..."

"Flatten your descent angle and slow your speed a touch," Malcolm suggested. Trip didn't reply but followed the suggestion. The shuttle's descent leveled out, and they were able to visually identify the landing spot, a ten meter by ten meter opening in the green canvas that blanketed the planet. Trip wiped the sweat that was running down his forehead out of his eyes as he maneuvered the shuttle pod into the opening and gently set it down. Taking a deep breath, he began the shut down process. Malcolm pulled out the padd with the shuttlepod's shutdown checklist on it, and working quickly and methodically they shut off the equipment and engines, leaving only the battery powered backup lights to see by.

Still perspiring, Trip turned to Malcolm. "Good thing we only brought the one shuttlepod. We wouldn't have been able to find a place to put the other that would be close enough to do any good. Okay, let's run through the plan one more time, make sure there's nothing we're forgetting."

"Excellent idea." Malcolm took a deep breath feeling the adrenalin rush. He was anxious to get started, but it wouldn't do to rush things. "We're going to hike the thirty kilometers to the generator. To do that, we're going to have to go through a rather large ravine, and cross a river at the bottom of it. We'll need to rappel down. The other side is a little less steep, so we should be able to just hike out."

"Right. We won't need to do any technical climbing on that side," Trip confirmed. "After that, the hiking will be tough because of the vegetation, but no major obstacles. I figure if we leave within the next hour, we can make it before sunset."

"Which we want, since we won't be able to approach the complex until dark. Then we'll conduct a reconnaissance, and determine precisely where the weapons are housed. Hopefully we'll be able to disable them before sunrise, and depart. However, if we can't, we'll take shelter in the forest, and wait until tomorrow night, and then we'll proceed."

"The most important thing," Trip said, speaking very slowly, almost to himself, "is to make absolutely sure that we remove or destroy any traces of our technology. We'll have to access the computer systems and see if we can find the blueprints or tech specs in there. We'll really have to do a good search."

"We'll leave the generator though, right?" Malcolm spoke from behind Trip, so his expression wasn't visible, but Trip thought he sounded anxious.

"If possible," Trip said. "If possible."

* * *

It was another hour before they were ready to depart with their heavy packs. They carried food, water, their shelters, scanners, a first aid kit, phasers, and what seemed to Trip to be a ridiculous amount of explosive. He was starting to wish they had brought a security team, if for no other reason than to help carry the load. Malcolm had turned a deaf ear to his complaints.

"Are you ready, Commander?"

"Yeah, sure, I'm ready," Trip grumbled, snugging up his rappelling harness. "You?"

"Yes. I've been thinking. Let's leave the lines in place, to make the return climb easier."

"I'm all for that," Trip said. He paused. "Malcolm, why are there three rappel ropes set?"

"In case something happens to one of them before our return. Just to be safe."

Trip rolled his eyes. "Fine. Well, let's get this show on the road." Checking the security of his pack and his ropes a final time he approached the edge of the ravine. "Here goes nothing." He turned and took a deep breath, trying to still his shaking hands, and stepped off the cliff.

He hated the feeling. He enjoyed rappelling, but that first step was always nerve-wracking, requiring a deliberate effort to ignore his mind's instinctive warnings, insisting that stepping backwards over the edge of a cliff was sheer lunacy. But it was only that first step; as he tested his brake hand and found that all was functioning properly the anxiety faded. Ten minutes later he had solid ground under his feet again with Malcolm beside him. They shed their harnesses and Malcolm stowed them in a waterproof bag and then buried the bag under a large rock.

"Hopefully those will be there when we return," Malcolm said, gathering up his pack again.

"Hopefully." Trip stared up the cliff face they had just descended. It was easily three hundred meters up, and almost perfectly vertical. Without technical climbing equipment they would have no hope of scaling it. Even with the ropes it would be a difficult climb. It was a dramatic reminder that this mission was inherently dangerous. There were so many things could go wrong—and they wouldn't have to be big things—to derail the mission. Even if they were successful, returning to the shuttlepod would be a treacherous climb. They would be exhausted, and might be being pursued. Even a minor injury to one of them could make the climb impossible.

Trip swallowed hard, feeling the burden of responsibility. He was in command of this mission, and there was so much potential for things to go disastrously wrong. Again. Fleetingly, he wished it wasn't Malcolm accompanying him. This mission _had_ to go smoothly. It had to.

* * *

Stowing the ropes and preparing his pack for the hike, Malcom was aware of Trip staring at the cliff, and then at him. Trip's face was tight and unsmiling. Malcolm wondered what the engineer was thinking. The shuttle ride had been tense; they had barely spoken, each reflecting on what they needed to do, and what had brought them to this point. To Malcolm the mission was a God-send, an opportunity to take action, to reverse the damage that could be done by introducing a new and sophisticated technology to this sector. They hadn't been able to repair the damage done when he had lost his communicator on another pre-warp planet, but _this_ damage he could undo. It was a chance for redemption. Watching Trip, tense and silent and so different from his normal self, putting on his pack, Malcolm knew that his crewmate wasn't seeing the mission in the same light.

* * *

"The complex is larger than I expected." Malcolm handed the viewer to Trip and looked down at his scanner again, unwilling to believe what his eyes were telling him. "T'Pol's scans didn't indicate anything of this size, did they?"

"It must be the size of a football stadium on Earth," Trip replied, not directly answering Malcolm's question. He returned the viewers, and began conducting his own scans. Both men were laying on their stomachs at the edge of the forest they had just emerged from, staying out of sight of the beings who were busily entering and exiting the building a mere one hundred meters away.

"Commander, I think I've located where the prototype weapons are...and that there should be the generator. Odd, they're a bit more separated than I would have expected..."

Trip looked over Malcolm's shoulder to see the spots the armory officer indicated on the schematics on his padd. Malcolm handed Trip the padd and returned to observing the movements of the aliens. After several moments of silence Malcolm spoke.

"I think I've got a fix on the main entrances. I've counted approximately fifty people coming out or going in so far. I haven't seen any of them carrying weapons, and I haven't seen any signs of security, beyond the fence and locks. I can't believe that they won't have some sort of security force after dark though. I wonder if people work here at all times, or if they'll leave for the night."

"We're going to have to wait and see. Hopefully most of them will go home. What's your plan?" Trip deferred to the tactical officer for the planning of the reconnaissance.

"We'll stay out of sight until dark, and see how many of them leave. We should be able to get a general idea on the number of biosigns inside, even if it's not completely accurate. We'll breach the fence, and go inside. Once in, we'll head straight to the weapons, and see what exactly they have. I'll do that, while you try to gain entry into their computer systems."

"I don't like the idea of splitting up, Malcolm."

"Neither do I...but I don't see any alternative. We'll see what we can find out, and then we'll rendezvous, pool our information, and figure out the next step."

"So until dark, we just wait?"

"We just wait."


	5. Chapter 5

Trip couldn't get comfortable. He shifted position. Still uncomfortable, he reached under his thigh to extract a rock, and tossed it away. It was an action he had performed three times already. It seemed no matter where he tried to settle he found a rock, a twig, or some other sharp object poking at him. He glanced over at Malcolm. The armory officer was reading a padd, sitting still and composed.

They had set up a reconnaissance post at the edge of the forest on a small rise that overlooked the complex. From their position they were able to observe the complex below them without difficulty, and the jungle like forest provided them easy cover if they needed to retreat to avoid being seen, and the trees provided some shade. After the long hike, the rest had been welcome, but now Trip was bored.

"Malcolm."

Malcolm looked up from his padd.

"What are you reading?"

"Mail."

"Mail? You've been reading mail for two hours?"

"No, Commander. I've been reading mail for the last fifteen minutes. Before that I was reading a novel. Before _that_ I was reviewing the scans of the building." Malcolm returned his attention to the padd.

"Oh." Trip considered the wisdom of interrupting Malcolm again. "What novel?"

Malcolm put the padd down beside him with a sigh. "Are you bored, Commander?"

Trip chuckled. "I guess I am being obvious. Sorry. I wish I'd thought to download a book to my padd before we left." A thought struck him. "How are you getting your mail? The interference isn't causing any problem?"

"I don't know. I downloaded the last week's worth of mail before we left."

"The whole week's worth? You haven't read the mail you received last week yet?" Trip couldn't keep the surprise out of his tone. "Why not?"

"I've been busy." Malcolm didn't meet Trip's eyes. He picked up the padd again. "If there were an emergency, the captain would be notified through official channels. Waiting a few days doesn't hurt anything."

"Yeah, but..." It was inconceivable to Trip that anyone could resist reading his mail for a week. He shook his head. A thought occurred to him, and he glanced over at Malcolm, who was now studying the padd with far more intensity than it deserved. Trip wanted to ask a question, but wasn't sure how to word it.

"Have you...when did you last speak to your family?"

Malcolm didn't even glance up from the padd. "Why are you asking, Commander?"

"I was just wondering...I mean, they must be worried."

Malcolm didn't respond. Instead, he picked up the viewscopes and checked the complex for any changes. Satisfying himself that there were none, he rose. "I'm going to stretch a little, take a short walk. I'll be back in about five minutes." He turned and walked back into the forest.

Malcolm had left his padd behind. Trip stared at it for a moment, and even reached out to pull it toward himself before he realized what he was doing, and stilled his hand. He looked away, trying to resist the temptation, wishing Malcolm would return. He stood, needing to stretch. Taking a step closer to the spot where Malcolm had been sitting, he glanced down at the padd. There was nothing on the screen; Malcolm had closed the file. The Starfleet emblem on the screen stared up at him, taunting him. He pushed the padd with his toe. Hearing a slight rustling in the foliage behind him he took a step away and extended his arms above his head, making a great show of stretching. An instant later Malcolm reappeared. He glanced at the engineer, and then down at the padd he had left. Picking it up, he brushed away the dirt that had fallen from Trip's boot onto the corner. Seeing that it was still locked, his stiff posture loosened. Shooting Trip one more glance, he sat back down. With nothing else to do, and nowhere to go, Trip reluctantly followed. Before Malcolm could become engrossed in his mail again, Trip asked, "How much longer before the sun sets?"

"Two hours."

"Two more hours? I don't suppose you brought a chess board or anything?"

"No, I didn't put that high on my priority list. As I recall, someone was complaining that they had too much to carry as it was."

"Chessboards are light," Trip replied with a small grin. "I could have managed that. Too bad I didn't think of it. Anything else we could do?"

"I _am_ doing something," Malcolm replied pointedly, a response for which Trip had no reply. He sighed and leaned back against the tree. Lacking other options he reached for his own padd, wishing it had something entertaining on it. He glanced at the schematics for the building in front of them, but he'd already nearly memorized the plans, and they couldn't hold his attention. "Malcolm—".

Thwap! Trip jumped as Malcolm's padd slapped against the ground.

"Am I not to have a single moment's peace?" The words were clipped, the tone taut.

Trip's jaw dropped. He pulled it closed and tried to speak. "I...what do you mean?"

"Nothing," Malcolm mumbled, looking away.

An unexpected wave of anger washed over Trip. He was tired of walking on eggshells. "If you have something you want to say, Lieutenant, you go right ahead and say it."

Malcolm's posture stiffened and he came as close to being at attention as he could manage from his seated position, responding to Trip's use of his rank. "No, sir. I'm sorry. I was out of line."

Trip shook his head, his anger disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. That wasn't the result he had been hoping for. "Malcolm, if there is something bothering you—".

He hadn't finished when Malcolm grabbed the viewscope and gestured at the building. "Something is happening at the complex."

Trip fell silent. Instinctively he lowered his body to remain out of sight. Next to him, Malcolm was on his belly, focusing intently on the complex. As they watched, aliens poured out of the building and through the small gate in the security fence. The sounds of laughter and conversation reached Trip and Malcolm, the normal sounds of laborers leaving work at the end of a long day. The exodus continued over the next fifteen minutes, finally slowing to a trickle. A variety of ground vehicles were soon leaving the area, creating a long line heading toward the urban center. Trip was about to comment, when he noticed Malcolm tense. "What's wrong?"

Wordlessly, Malcolm handed the viewers to Trip. It took Trip a moment to focus and find the spot Malcolm had indicated. He gulped. Three Dorlogians were standing at the gate. They were easy to distinguish from the much smaller Vericans.

"Recognize anyone?" Malcolm asked quietly.

Trip nodded. "That merchant. The one who eluded the police. I forget his name."

"Corman," Malcolm supplied softly, taking the viewers back from Trip.

"Yeah, that's it. Wasn't he the head of one of the syndicates? Well, I guess we know who was responsible for stealing our information." Trip paused. "This could complicate things."

"Not necessarily." Malcolm, was still lying on his stomach propped up by his elbows. "They're obviously here supervising, keeping an eye on their merchandise." He looked through the viewers again at the Dorlogians still chatting at the gate, giving no indication they were aware they were being observed. "They don't look like security personnel to me. I think they're supervising activities here, but as long as they go home for their suppers, they won't bother us."

Malcolm sounded remarkably calm. Calmer than Trip felt. He knew Malcolm was right, that their plan didn't need to be altered yet, but Trip had taken for granted that the beings on this world were less technologically advanced. He'd been confident that they could evade any sort of security precautions that might be in place, and could take care of their business. Knowing that the more sophisticated Dorlogians criminals were here on site made him anxious. He hadn't expected them here. They had believed that syndicate leaders would only arrive when they had a customer to demonstrate the weaponry for. The Enterprise was monitoring communications with the planet, and watching for approaching ships. They had expected plenty of warning before the Dorlogians arrival. Regardless of Malcolm's opinion, the mission's risk profile had just increased markedly. Trip shivered, chilled at the thought of encountering the Dorlogians again.

"They've left." Malcolm put down the viewers. "Went the same way as all the others." He pointed toward the line of vehicles still making its way out of the complex. "It seems rather odd to me. They only run one shift? Or do they have a reduced staff in there?" He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. "I'll run another scan, see if I can determine how many biosigns remain inside."

Trip stared at Malcolm, amazed at how unconcerned the armory officer seemed at this new development—and then noticed a very slight tremble in the hand holding the scanner. Trip reached for his pack to retrieve his own equipment. For several minutes they worked in silence. Malcolm spoke first. "I've got about ten people inside. I can't tell if they're the people from this planet, Dorlogians, or both. What have you found?"

"Same thing. And the amount of energy the Vericans are siphoning off has increased. They must have a lower requirement during the day. They've cranked it up about a third."

"The people inside are pretty scattered. No two together right now. I think they must be the overnight crew."

Trip glanced up at the sky. The sun was lower, but it would still be some time before darkness would fall. "Pretty early night shift."

"I hope they don't have a midnight shift change. That could be a problem." Malcolm put his equipment back into the pack, picked up his padd, dusted it off, and settled back to resume his reading. He stared at the padd so intently Trip knew the interest must be feigned, probably in the hope of forestalling a conversation. He should insist Malcolm explain the comment he had made earlier. It had been rude and bordered on insubordinate. Trip _was_ the senior officer. He opened his mouth to speak...and then closed it, once again backing off, fearing the confrontation and the potential fallout. It bothered him that he was being controlled by Malcolm's reactions, but he couldn't bring himself to strain the truce any further, even though he knew he was abrogating his role as the senior officer.

* * *

"Do you ever still think about it?" Trip had been mentally rehashing the earlier conversation and watching Malcolm fake interest in his novel. Now he could stand it no longer and broke the silence.

"Think about what?" Malcolm looked up from the padd.

"About the time we were on Shuttlepod One and we thought that Enterprise had been destroyed."

Malcolm shrugged. "I try not to." He returned to his padd.

"I think about it a lot lately. Do you want to know why?"

"Why?" Malcolm's tone was flat, disinterested.

"Because that was when we became friends. Before that we were just colleagues, really."

Malcolm didn't reply, but he did stop reading and put the padd down.

"I just wish we could turn back time. I wish we could be friends again, like we were then," Trip continued.

"We are," Malcolm said, his words not sounding even vaguely convincing. His attention was suddenly riveted by his uniform pocket. It had been snagged on their journey in and was now refusing to stay closed, the fastener missing. Giving up on it, he began pulling a twig through the dirt, sketching out the schematics he'd been memorizing earlier.

"Are we?"

"Commander, this probably isn't the best time to be discussing this. We have a mission."

"Which won't start for another hour or so. In the meantime, we have nothing else to do. Seems like a perfect time and place to talk."

"Perhaps I don't wish to discuss it right now," Malcolm said, a little haughtily. "Do I have any say in the matter, sir?" He made the formal address sound like an accusation.

"Sure, Malcolm. We can go the rest of our lives without discussing it, if you really want, but that won't change anything."

"Commander, I just don't see the need to re-open this conversation. We've already had it. I don't know what you want."

"I want to know what you're thinking. I want to know how we can fix this—"

"Fix _what_? That's my point, Commander! There isn't anything to fix!" Malcolm took a deep breath. "I don't know what it is you want," he repeated.

"You really think things are the same as they were before? I don't."

Malcolm shook his head in frustration. "I didn't say they were the same. They can't be exactly the same, now can they? Things change, Commander. People change. Nothing stays the same forever. But that doesn't mean that something needs to be fixed. Things are just...different."

Trip considered this. Malcolm's logic made sense, sort of. Change could be good—but this didn't seem like a good change. There was a distance between them, a formality that he couldn't seem to breach, no matter how hard he tried. Did Malcolm really not see it? Or did he see it, and simply not mind? He glanced at his chronometer—there was plenty of time before they were due to start the mission. He took a risk. "I think you're still mad at me."

Malcolm froze and then slowly turned to Trip, his gaze icy but his words heated. "Commander, I am sick to death of discussing this. Am I never to be allowed to just put it behind me? Why do you keep insisting on bringing it up? Can you not just leave it alone? Leave _me_ alone about it? Your constant harping on it _is_ starting to make me angry!"

"What discussion are you sick of, Malcolm? We haven't ever talked about this. We exchanged words that one time in the Captain's dining room. That wasn't a discussion, Malcolm. That was just...venting or something. It was good and all, but you and I have _not_ had a discussion. Not a real, calm, 'let's find a way to get past this thing ' talk." In fact, we've gone out of our way to avoid it. But it's like having an elephant in the living room that no one mentions. I'm getting tired of tiptoeing around it, too. I can't discuss it, I can't even bring up the possibility of discussing it, without you getting all high and mighty and in a snit. But damn it, it's there. All the time, it's there. It's not like we've forgotten about it. It's like a shadow that follows us everywhere. I'm getting pretty sick of it myself."

For a moment Malcolm just stared out over the complex they were watching. Finally he spoke. "I understand what you're saying. But I don't think there is an elephant in the living room. Maybe there was an elephant. But it's gone now, so there is no point in bringing it up. It would be like saying 'remember that time there was an elephant in the living room? Let's talk about that.' Simply no point at all."

"But it's not gone. That's the thing. Half the time I feel like you're trying to hide from me. You've made every excuse in the book to avoid me."

"Commander." Malcolm paused and took a deep breath. "I'm avoiding you because I need some time alone. But you won't give me a moment's peace. You want to eat together, go to the movies, play chess, hike on a planet, go fishing...it goes on and on and on. I wouldn't spend so much time avoiding you if you would just give me a little time to myself! You know, you talk about things having changed. You never used to spend so much time pestering me before. You used to spend time with Mayweather, with the engineering crew, with the captain. You and I rarely did things together, really. You used to send your crew to do engineering repairs in the armory. Now, every time I look up, you're there. If you want things to go back to normal, you need to start behaving normally again."

Trip was taken aback. He _was_ behaving normally. It was Malcolm who was different, Malcolm who spent all his time in the armory, who had to be coaxed into taking time off duty. Before Dorlog...and then the truth dawned. Malcolm was right—he had been behaving normally. Sort of. It was Trip who had changed. If he was frank with himself, he had to admit that he and Malcolm hadn't even really gotten along until after their experience in Shuttlepod One, and even then their relationship had involved a great deal of bickering. Friendly and collegial bickering, it was true, but certainly not the perfect, rosy relationship he had been imagining. Even on the day they visited Dorlog they had been arguing. It was their differences and ability to appreciate those differences, that had created their friendship, and Trip realized he had been trying to ignore that part of the dynamic. To try to recreate a relationship in a way that it had never existed—outside his own mind—well no wonder he had been failing.

Trip watched as Malcolm went back to drawing designs in the dirt. "You've been wanting to say that for some now, haven't ya?"

"No."

Trip shot him a sideways glance that showed his disbelief.

"I didn't want to say it all. I was hoping you'd figure it out yourself," Malcolm admitted with a half-laugh. He continued with the designs in the soil, occasionally stopping to carefully smooth the dirt to correct an error. Trip leaned over to take a closer look and then sat back again, considering.

"You're right, Malcolm. I have been overdoing it, and I'm sorry. I just felt bad—still feel bad—about what happened. I guess I was just trying to make it up to you."

"Commander, I don't want you to try to make it up to me. You can't." Seeing Trip's face fall, he hastily added, "I just mean—things happen. We can't undo them. I can't undo when I lost my communicator, and the damage we did then. Trying to make it up is futile. What's done is done."

"I know that. I mean, I realize it can never be undone. It happened. But I want to do whatever I can to make things normal again."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. You're trying too hard to make things normal again. Please...just let it go. That would be the best thing you could do." Malcolm turned away, gazed into the distance as he continued speaking. "Just...give me some time, and some space. Please."

Trip dropped his gaze, and took a deep breath. "All right," he finally said. "I'll try, okay? But maybe...If I try to back off, could you, occasionally, just have a normal casual conversation, or grab lunch or something?"

"That sounds fair," Malcolm said evenly. "But please believe me, Commander, when I say I am not angry with you any longer. I was. Bloody hell, I was furious. But I'm not anymore."

Something in his voice made Trip look up at his crewmate, and prompted the next question. "But?"

"Pardon?"

"You're not angry. But what do you feel, Malcolm? Right now, what are you feeling? What's still bothering you?"

Abruptly Malcolm reached down and obliterated the design, smoothing the earth back into place. He briskly brushed his hands together to rid them of the dirt. Standing, he said, "Sir, I'd really rather not discuss it right now, not when we have a mission that is going to demand all our concentration starting in..." he glanced at his chronometer, "less than an hour. I don't think this is the best time."

"Okay," Trip relented. "Not now. But soon." And he meant it.


	6. Chapter 6

Malcolm sidled around the building's corner, keeping his back plastered against the wall, and managing to stay in the foot wide shadow the roof floodlights couldn't illuminate.

"Careless, not checking to see if there were any shadows. Sloppy security work," he whispered to Trip. Trip couldn't help grinning. Malcolm actually seemed disappointed in the security lapses, taking it as an affront that any security personnel could be so inept; the fact that it made their mission easier was beside the point. Earlier,they had walked around the building, staying well back from it, identifying its vulnerabilities. Malcolm had selected a poorly lit area to breach the fence, and they'd made short work of it. Now they were working their way to a small door they'd noted on the opposite side of the building. Malcolm pulled out the tools he would need to break in as they continued to slink around the building. Reaching the door, he prepared to use the tool he held.

Trip put up a hand to stop him. "Wait a second." He reached over and grabbed the knob, slowly twisting it. When there was a soft click and he was able to push it open an inch he grinned. "Always try the easy way first," he whispered. Malcolm shook his head, again clearly disappointed in the security measures. He lifted one hand and motioned for Trip to stay back. Slowly pushing the door open a few inches he slid one arm in, testing for a reaction. When there was none, he slid half his body in. When that also brought no reaction, he pushed the door open a little further, took a quick look, and disappeared through the door. He popped his head back out and made a jerking motion with his head, indicating Trip should follow him. Then he disappeared into the dark gap.

Trip followed, considerably less stealthily. He stepped inside and stopped, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Malcolm was a few feet ahead of him. He, too, had halted.

"Do you hear that?" Malcolm whispered.

Trip listened, and after a few seconds he detected a soft humming sound. "Yes," he whispered back. "What is it?"

Malcolm shrugged. He was moving again, and Trip followed him, finding that he could now see a little bit. A small strip of light came from a door on the opposite side of the room. Malcolm went to it and paused, and then leaned forward to press his ear against the door, at the same time using his scanner to check for biosigns. He frowned at the readings and conducted another scan before pulling a small flashlight from his pocket.

In the darkness, the small light seemed very bright. Trip took out his own light but didn't turn it on. He joined Malcolm's at the door. "What did the scan show?"

"There isn't anyone close. The nearest biosign is at least a hundred meters away. Truly amazing." Malcolm was speaking quietly, but wasn't bothering to whisper. "I don't know if they have other security monitoring going on, so I'd rather not turn on the lights. They may have surveillance cameras."

"Yeah." Trip glanced around the room. With Malcolm's light providing some illumination, he could see that it was an office. There was a desk, with what looked to be a computer monitor on it, several chairs, and an assortment of shelves loaded with books and manuals. Trip walked over to the desk and opened the top drawer.

"Commander!"

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Just looking. Who knows what we'll find." Trip continued exploring the desk, while Malcolm made a circuit of the room, shining his light in the corners, checking for surprises. When he was satisfied he returned to the desk where Trip had taken a seat and was studying the computer. Tentatively Trip reached out and tapped a key. The screen sprang to life, and Trip smiled.

"Now we're in business," he told Malcolm. He activated his scanner. Hoshi had downloaded the UT program to it, making certain the Dorlogian language portion was updated with the dialect she had discovered in the "sales pitch" they had heard. Trip got to work.

For the next hour Malcolm guarded the door while Trip showed some of the ability that had made him Archer's top choice for Chief Engineer on Enterprise. Using the translation program, he searched the computer for information that might be of use to them, or for any files with information on Starfleet technology. Periodically he would stop to stretch, and occasionally Malcolm would come to look over his shoulder, but for the most part the hour passed in silence.

Finally Trip sighed and tapped a few last keys. "I think that's it." He began flipping through page after page of schematics, diagrams, and text files. He paused as a file caught his attention. He skimmed it, and then opened a connected file. After reading just a few lines, he closed it, feeling vaguely ill. He sat back in the chair, letting his hands drop into his lap as the implications of what he had seen began to sink in. He glanced up at Malcolm, who had taken to pacing the room, investigating it more thoroughly.

"We were set up," Trip whispered.

"What?" Busy skimming a manual he had found, Malcolm hadn't heard Trip clearly.

"Nothing." Trip hastily downloaded all information he had found to his padd, and then put it away for later reference. He pulled up the schematic on the larger desk computer, and then called Malcolm over. "Take a look at this."

* * *

"Here." Malcolm pointed out the spot on the screen. "This is the control room. And this..." he pointed to another spot that was on the opposite side of the schematic, "is the generator. The weapons themselves are...here."

Trip studied the schematic. The distance between the three critical locations was a serious complication. They would have to separate. Trip pulled up the plans for the generator itself, and groaned.

"What is it?" Malcolm leaned over his shoulder. As he realized what he was seeing he let out a low whistle. He reached forward and touched the screen lightly, tracing a line. "So they've got the weapons acting as security for the complex. Clever. The generator powers the weapons, but if the generator goes off- line the weapons sense that their power has been cut and use a stored energy burst to fire. And if any of the weapons are destroyed, there is a feedback loop that is interrupted and the generator causes the other weapons to automatically fire. The only way to deactivate the system is to deactivate the weapons first, without damaging them, and then deactivate the generator."

"Fire at what? It would be counterproductive to have the weapons fire at the generator to destroy it. So what do they fire at?" Trip asked, more to himself than to Malcolm.

Malcolm shook his head. "We'd have to look at the weapon targeting circuitry...or the targeting protocol. Did you find anything that could be it?"

Trip scrolled to another screen. "What about this?" They watched as the translator program Trip had installed changed the words and numbers on the screen from Dorlogian to English.

"I think that's it." Malcolm pulled up a chair and sat beside Trip. "It looks like..." he pulled his padd from his pocket and entered a few numbers. "Space. These coordinates..." he tapped a line of numbers displayed on the screen, "are in the area immediately surrounding the planet. These ones..." he again tapped the screen indicating several rows of numbers, "outline a perimeter. An area of space above this complex, that the weapons can protect."

"Why?" Trip asked. "Why not protect the area around the generator?"

Malcolm gave a small laugh that held no humor. "It's brilliant. I underestimated them." When Trip just stared at him, Malcolm continued. "Think about it, Commander. Where does the greatest danger to this complex come from? We had to hike in, couldn't even get a shuttlepod closer than thirty kilometers, really. They have natural protection from the terrain from any sort of attack by ground. No wonder they don't bother much with security. Their only real concern is a threat from space, so they've established an area that they're monitoring, and they protect the weapons and generator _with the weapons themselves_! And they've set it up so that if someone attacks the generator from space, they'll be fired on—even if the generator is destroyed."

"Monitoring?" Trip asked slowly. "Malcolm, _are they keeping constant surveillance on that area of space? Right now?_ "

Malcolm's posture stiffened. Frantically, he reached over and tapped another few keys, searching for a specific file. When he couldn't find it he stood up and began pacing. Placing his hand on his hips, he dropped his head and studied the floor, concentrating. Trip remained silent, letting him think, but continued searching the files for anything that would answer their question. Finally Malcolm spoke.

"It must be targeting Enterprise. It's the only thing that makes sense. It would have to target _something_ , for the security to be of any use. We'll have to assume the ship is being followed."

"So if we take the generator off line, the weapons will fire at Enterprise." Trip took a moment to think. "Maybe we can get Enterprise to move out of the area being watched. We can send up the coordinates and Travis can just stay outside of them."

"That's a good start, but we can't assume that the weapons won't continue tracking them. We'll still have to find a way to disrupt this feedback mechanism."

"Tucker to Enterprise." Trip lost no time in trying to contact Enterprise.

Nothing.

Trip tried again. "Tucker to Enterprise." This time there was a slight hiss of static.

"The electromagnetic field is too strong in here." Trip snapped his communicator shut and shoved it back in his pocket. "We knew that was likely. Or maybe they realized they were being targeted and moved out of the area. Okay, we're on our own for now. We need to get those weapons off-line before something happens to make them fire at Enterprise."

Malcolm had conducted another scan of the area. "Whatever we do, we need to do it quickly. I can't believe it will be much longer before someone needs to check something or other in here. I wish we knew with certainty what would happen to the generator if we deactivate the weapons."

"There has to be some way to do maintenance on the generator and the weapons," Trip mused. "Maybe they _do_ just shut off the weapons for a while. There must be some way to turn them off."

"We'll have to wait until we get a good look at the weapon control room before we can tell."

Trip thought out loud, "So we have to deactivate the weapons, and then the generator, and then destroy the weapons. Any other order and the weapons will fire as part of the protective mechanism. So as long as we can deactivate the weapons, we should be fine."

"I hope so. We need to look at the equipment first hand, but that should be our plan."

* * *

Malcolm slid out the door, staying in the shadows, scanner in hand. Looking around carefully, not trusting the scanner as much as he trusted his own senses, he verified that no one was around. He stopped to wait for Trip, who had lingered to delete all the files related to Starfleet from the computer.

Trip moved more awkwardly than Malcolm, not accustomed to working in the shadows and staying hidden. It wasn't what he was trained for. Next to him, Malcolm was a bundle of suppressed energy, gesturing for Trip to hurry and insisting they move to an alcove where they were protected from view.

"Commander, the generator is that way," Malcolm pointed to the right of where they stood. "It's about fifty meters. Can you go get ready to deactivate the generator? I'll go deactivate the weapons. When they're off-line and you're ready, just deactivate the generator, and we can take care of destroying the weapons after that."

"I've been thinking. I don't think this is such a good idea, Malcolm. Once that generator goes off, it's going to get real busy here. We need to have the explosives set around the weapons already, so we can blow them as soon as the generator is off-line."

"Fine. But whatever we plan on doing, we need to do it quickly. It will be morning soon, and this place is going to be full of people. We might have to wait until tomorrow night," Malcolm said. "That just increases the odds of our being discovered. I'd like to get this over with tonight."

"So would I, but I'm not willing to risk being discovered, or hurting innocent people when the explosives go off. It's going to take us a long time to set the explosives—by the time we're done, people will be arriving. We'll set the explosives in place tonight, and tomorrow night we'll deactivate the weapons and generator, and then blow the weapons on the way out, remotely." Trip made the command decision, feeling good that he finally had taken control of events. He took that sting from his words though by smiling as he added, "I guess we didn't bring too many explosives after all."

* * *

"We've got to destroy the generator. You know that, don't you?" Malcolm asked. They were back in their hiding spot, outside the fence surrounding the complex. The planet's sun was just rising to their left, north on this planet. It had taken them most of the night to locate all the weapons and plant explosives. Tonight, they would destroy the machinery built from the stolen Starfleet technology. As they had worked on the equipment, they had found the generator and weapons were closely linked. Too closely. The generator contained elements of the weapons technology integrated into it. They couldn't leave it intact.

"Yeah, I know it," Trip said irritably. He was exhausted, and Malcolm's pointing out the obvious didn't help. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to bring it under control, but after a day of hard hiking and climbing, and then a strenuous night of crawling in, under, and around large pieces of equipment, it was beyond taming. "But those people will survive. They'll lose their power source for a while. Maybe for a long time. But they haven't had this generator for very long—they should be able to go back to their steam system pretty quickly."

"I'd feel a lot better if we knew that for sure," Malcolm said.

"So would I. But there are some real powerful weapons hooked up to this thing—weapons that don't belong in this sector. And they're working with some people who are aren't very honest. Corman's gonna sell these weapons to the highest bidder—then what will happen to these people? Who knows if they'd even live up to their end of the bargain? Whoever buys these weapons could really do some harm, and unbalance this sector. It's not an ideal solution, Malcolm, but it is the best thing for us to do."

"You're right. I know. I just don't like it." Something in Malcolm's voice made Trip turn to look at him. Malcolm's face was haggard and drawn with exhaustion, and there was an emotion that Trip couldn't identify in his eyes. Malcolm was more disturbed by the events than Trip had realized

"Something else bugging you?"

"Of course." Malcolm wouldn't meet Trip's eyes.

"What do you mean, 'of course'?"

Malcolm sighed. "Commander, you do realize this situation is our fault, don't you? If we had never set foot on Dorlog, this technology would never have been given to these people, and we wouldn't be taking it away from them now. Can you imagine what it will like for them tomorrow, when they wake up to no power, no weather shield, and no defenses for their colony? True, they didn't have it a few months ago, but it is still going to cause some suffering to have it all suddenly snatched away. I wish it hadn't happened."

"Malcolm, _it is not our fault_." Trip spoke each word slowly and separately, giving them additional weight. "We didn't give the technology to them. In fact, we didn't _give_ it to anyone at all. If you'll recall, it was stolen from us. I'd think you'd remember." Trip hadn't meant to sound so sarcastic, but he was tired, and spoke before he thought.

"Oh, I remember very well, thank you," Malcolm said, his voice cold.

Trip flushed, but continued. "Then you'll realize that we are _not_ the responsible parties here."

"Oh, but we are."

Trip was a little surprised that Malcolm was persisting in this line of thinking. The armory officer was not usually so philosophical.

"How are we responsible? And don't tell me it's because we told stuff."

"No, it's not that—not exactly. Think about it, Commander. How much time did we spend researching Dorlog? We should have been aware that they had very limited weapons access, and that criminals might be highly interested in Enterprise. We should have found out that they had such a problem with syndicated crime and weapons trafficking. It wouldn't have taken much. T'Pol is always advising such caution, and I think she's right. If we'd taken just a bit of time before announcing that we were from a high tech Starship, and wanted some highly technical repair parts, we might have anticipated this. Well, not _this_ , exactly, but we could have been more cautious. If they didn't know our level of weapons sophistication, they might not have thought to ask. Personally, I rather wish they hadn't."

"You have a point, Malcolm," Trip admitted. "And if you're trying to say we should listen to T'Pol's warnings more—and yours for that matter—I'll grant you that. Maybe we should have anticipated the interest. But I gotta disagree about that making us responsible for what was done with the information. You said it yourself; the people that did this were criminals, and not just petty criminals, either. That Director Corzac, and Corman—they're evil men. Evil men will do evil things. We got trapped in it, against our wills, but that don't make us responsible." Trip was adamant. In his intensity, his accent became thicker, and he abandoned grammar, but he made his point perfectly. "Maybe." It was all Malcolm would give on the point, Trip knew. But then, Malcolm probably felt more responsible for the information that had leaked. He shouldn't, Trip thought, but he probably did. The majority of the information that had been stolen for this device had come from him. It was something they were both aware of that, but neither mentioned. It was too sensitive a subject for discussion right now. The file he had briefly seen, but tried not to read, came to his mind. He pushed the thought aside.

The two men were silent for a time, keeping careful watch to make sure they were not discovered, each lost in their own thoughts.

"It's gonna make a hell of a boom ya know," Trip said finally.

Malcolm smiled, a rare, full smile. "Oh, yes. It should be magnificent. If the timing is just right and they all go off simultaneously, Enterprise should be able to see if from orbit. I've asked Hoshi to record it, so I can look at it later."

"You're nuts, you know that?"

"I suppose."

"But it is gonna be damn impressive."

They fell silent again, a more comfortable silence then they'd shared in some time. The rising sun was warm, and Trip felt himself starting to drift, dozing. He shook himself. They needed to stay awake, keep watch for any signs that their work of the evening before had been discovered. Glancing over, he saw his crewmate's eyes were also at half-mast.

"We need ta stay awake," Trip warned sternly, but the point was diluted by a large yawn that made Malcolm chuckle.

"Perhaps we should take shifts, so we can each get a little sleep. Commander, you get some rest and I'll wake you in two hours."

"Sure you can stay awake alone?" Trip asked.

"I think I can manage," was the amused reply.

Trip found a spot under a tree with relatively few rocks, and within moments he was asleep. Malcolm smiled. Taking advantage of the rare quiet, he retrieved his padd and settled back to resume reading his novel.


	7. Chapter 7

Trip woke to fading light and complete silence. For a moment he was disoriented, confused by being surrounded by trees and grass, rather than the gray walls of his cabin he had expected. He shifted position, and rolled over—to find Malcolm staring coldly at him.

"Malcolm?" he paused to reach up and rub his bleary eyes, bringing the armory officer into better focus. "What's wrong?"

Malcolm remained silent, and Trip's disquiet ratcheted up a notch. "Lieutenant?" Trip sat up, trying to clear his foggy brain, glancing around to identify what could possibly be upsetting the armory officer. They had been alternating ninety-minute rest periods, and Malcolm had been fine when Trip went to sleep. As his vision cleared, Trip saw that Malcolm was clutching a padd. To be specific, Trip's padd. He was gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white.

"How long have you had this?"

"The padd?" Trip asked stupidly, still trying to clear the sleep from his mind.

"No, not the padd," Malcolm snarled. "The files on the padd. How long?"

Realization was dawning on Trip. "Malcolm, why were you looking at my padd anyway?"

"I wanted to compare a scan I just ran to the schematics you got last night, because something didn't seem quite right to me. I hadn't downloaded them from your padd to mine yet. You were asleep and I didn't want to wake you. I apologize for invading your privacy."

"Malcolm," Trip was scrambling on his hands and knees to the armory officer's side, wanting to reclaim his padd. "I was gonna tell you what I found. There hasn't been time. I haven't even read the file."

"Oh, certainly not. Why would you have read the file? You downloaded it without bothering to mention it to me, but you haven't read it. Why do I find that hard to believe?"

"Malcolm, ya gotta believe me...I wouldn't do that. I promise ya."

"Why should I believe you?" The words were mumbled under Malcolm's breath, and Trip almost missed them. When he realized what had been said, Trip stopped short, his hand still outstretched for the padd. Slowly he lowered it, as he dropped back into a seated position.

"That's it, isn't it, Malcolm? You just don't trust me."

Malcolm froze. Trip did as well, his own words startling him. For a moment, neither moved. Malcolm found his voice first. "We have a mission to complete."

"Yes, we do. A mission that could be dangerous." Trip took a deep breath before delivering the next words. "One that I don't think I want to undertake with someone who doesn't trust me."

Malcolm's face was red. Trip didn't know whether it was from anger, shock, or embarrassment, but he was betting on the first. Fleetingly he wondered if he'd gone too far.

Malcolm turned from his pack. His motions were precise, his words slow and deliberate. "Commander, I don't think this is an appropriate time for this conversation. If you had doubts about my ability to perform this mission, you should have said something to the captain before we left."

"I don't doubt...you know that's not what I'm talking about, Malcolm," Trip said wearily, taking the padd from Malcolm. " I just think..."

A violent popping sound interrupted them. Instinctively they dropped to their stomachs, turning automatically to face the complex. People were swarming out the main doors, chattering excitedly. As they watched, the building emptied. They kept low, not daring to speak for fear their voices would carry to the complex. For what seemed an interminable length of time, they remained that way. Finally, Trip inched closer to Malcolm and whispered in his ear, "Was that one of our explosives?"

Malcolm shook his head. Leaning close he replied sotto voce, "It wasn't large enough...and it didn't sound right to me." Together they watched as Vericans continued to flow out the doors, and noticed a change. The last people to exit were, to various degrees, wet. Malcolm put the pieces together first. "I think they had a plumbing emergency," he whispered with a hint of amusement. "I suppose it's possible that one of the explosives went off and burst a pipe."

The alien workers continued milling around the complex, disorganized and waiting for guidance, showing no desire to re-enter the building. It was nearly an hour before a vehicle raced up to the gate. Trip and Malcolm watched as the now familiar Dorlogians exited the vehicle. Out of the corner of his eye, Trip noticed Malcolm pressing himself even further into the ground to avoid detection. Turning his head, he saw a barely detectable tremor run through Malcolm. Trip wondered if it was the adrenalin from the unexpected excitement, or if seeing the Dorlogians made his crewmate nervous. Trip's own heart had sped up, and his palms felt sweaty.

Together they watched as the Dorlogians spoke to one of the Vericans, arms gesturing emphatically, voices raised, but not enough for their UTs to detect and translate the words. "This is when I miss having Hoshi along," Trip whispered.

Malcolm twisted abruptly to face him. "I would never want Hoshi to be involved in this!" The whisper was harsh. "It's much too dangerous. Can you imagine what they would do with her? I'll bet they'd just love to question a linguist of her ability..." he cut off his words, and turned back to watch the conversation in the complex.

Trip had been joking; he wouldn't want Hoshi here either, but he made a note of his crewmate's response. Trip wondered if the interest was simply the armory officer's desire to protect the crew, or if there was something more personal involved.

The Vericans crowding the space between the fence and the building were trickling out through the gate in the fence toward their vehicles, as they had on the previous evening. Trip glanced at the sky, noting that while the sun was setting, it wasn't as low in the sky as it had been when the workers left the previous day. They must be allowing them to leave early because of the malfunction inside, he realized. When nearly all of the workers had cleared the area, the Dorlogians went into the building, accompanied by the Verican they had been haranguing earlier.

A few more minutes passed while Trip and Malcolm waited to be certain the Dorlogians wouldn't be returning immediately. Finally, Trip slowly pushed himself up a little higher. He remained on his stomach, prepared to take cover again, but his face was out of the dirt his upper body propped up on his elbows. Malcolm followed suit.

"This could change our plans," Trip said.

"There are more people inside still than last night. If they don't leave, it will be more difficult," Malcolm concurred.

Trip shot another look at the setting sun and then stood up, stretching. "There's still some time. Maybe they'll leave. I wonder what happened." As he studied the building he couldn't detect any visible damage. If it had been an explosive, it hadn't managed to do much harm.

"It's possible one of the smaller explosives was somehow set off. If a heavy enough magnetic or electric field came too near, it could detonate. And I did set some of them near water mains." Malcolm rose too, brushing the dirt from his uniform as he did so.

Trip looked at him. "Near water mains? Why'dja do that?" He didn't mean to sound critical, but he couldn't imagine Malcolm bothering to destroy the plumbing. It seemed a petty thing to do, to cause more damage than necessary. Not that it really mattered; they were going to destroy virtually everything of value inside the building anyway. Still, it didn't seem like Malcolm. At least, not like the Malcolm he used to know.

"The fires." Malcolm was still watching the complex, and he didn't meet Trip's eyes. "To help put out the fires the explosives start. So no one gets hurt."

Trip understood. He put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder, wanting to reassure him that they would try to make sure that didn't happen. Malcolm's reaction startled him—the armory officer shoved him, hard, pushing him into the ground, and then throwing an arm across his back to pin him to the earth. Trip gasped for breath, trying to restore the air that had been knocked out of his lungs. He lay stunned at the inexplicable physical attack. He had barely touched Malcolm. He had always known, in the back of his mind, that the armory officer had the ability to defeat him in a physical confrontation, but he had never expected to see it demonstrated. He twisted in the dirt, trying to face the armory officer, but still too breathless to speak.

"Be still, Commander," Malcolm's whisper was harsh. "They've come back out, and they're looking right up here."

Trip went limp, lying motionless, his relief at the reason for Malcolm's actions almost drowning out the worry about the situation. He couldn't see the complex from his pinned down position, and he was afraid to try to move, both from concern that the Dorlogians might see him and, more acutely, by the fear of what Malcolm might do to him if he twitched so much as a single muscle. The armory officer was frozen in position. Only when Trip sensed Malcolm relaxing, and the arm pinning him down was lifted from his back, did Trip dare speak. "Are they gone?"

"They've left the area. They went to the vehicles." Malcolm's voice was pitched higher than usual, and he was breathing rapidly. "That was close."

Trip wondered how close it had really been. They'd been hiding here for two days, and no one had noticed them yet. It seemed unlikely that the Dorlogians would look at the exact spot where they were. But Malcolm was convinced they had narrowly escaped discovery. Surreptitiously, Trip studied him. The armory officer was jumpy, more on edge than usual. Not that he didn't have every right to be. They were about to go back into a building that contained enough planted explosives to do them significant damage.

Malcolm started back to his pack. His attention was drawn to Trip's padd, lying on the ground where Trip had dropped it at the sound of the explosion. Picking it up, Malcolm tossed it on to the top of Trip's pack as he walked past. Trip picked it up and shoved it in his pocket without comment. Instead, he looked into the forest behind them. "How far back do we need to be when the explosives are blown?"

Malcolm followed his gaze. "A bit further. Maybe another fifty meters?"

"You remember where we stopped to rest on the way in?" Trip asked. Malcolm nodded. "Let's rendezvous there. You should be back here before I am. If something happens...remember what the captain said. We've got to get rid of those weapons."

"Right. But he also said to be careful," Malcolm reminded him. "Do you have a detonator in your pack?"

"Yup. You?" Fueled by nervous energy, and unable to stand still, Trip repetitively curled and uncurled his fingers, while Malcolm tapped his foot.

"Yes. I think we're ready." Malcolm ran a last scan of the building. "The extra people left. It looks the same as last night." Malcolm picked up his pack and tossed it over his shoulders.

"Fine. Listen, once we're inside, you get those weapons off-line, and then you hightail it back here. I'll kill the generator, and join you, and we'll watch the fireworks display."

"I'll come assist you with in blowing the generator—"

"No! You get back to the rendezvous point. That's an order, Lieutenant!" Trip told him sharply. Then more softly, "Now, contact Hoshi and tell her we're ready for Enterprise to send Shuttlepod Two for backup." Trip didn't say anything more, but they both knew the rest of the order was implicit. If, somehow, one or the other failed to make it to rendezvous point in time, the other was to detonate the explosives.

Malcolm began to protest the idea of leaving his senior officer behind in the complex, but Trip narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips. Malcolm gave up. "Fine." He raised the communicator. "Lieutenant Reed to Enterprise."

The response was static-filled but understandable. "Enterprise here. Is everything all right, Lieutenant?" There was concern in Hoshi's voice, and Trip remembered his earlier thoughts.

"Everything's fine, Ensign," Malcolm reassured her. "We're ready for Shuttlepod Two to move into position. We'll comm them if we need help."

"I'll tell the Captain. Good luck, Lieutenant. Commander."

"Thanks, Hoshi," Trip called toward the communicator. Malcolm shot him a look at the blatant disregard of noise discipline.

"Thanks, Ensign," Malcolm said more quietly. He snapped his communicator shut. "We're ready. Let's go."

* * *

Malcolm looked down into the tunnel. "Damn. Damn, damn, damn." He cursed freely and unselfconsciously with no one around to hear him. The previous evening there hadn't been time to recon the weapon's control room—they'd had to leave, racing the rising sun and arriving workers, and rely on the information they had downloaded from the complex computer system.

It had looked so simple on the schematics. If his scans and the schematics were right the weapon controls would be on the far wall. All he had to do was turn them off, disabling the feedback system, and Trip could deactivate the power generators safely; they would exit and detonate the explosives, creating a beautiful display of pyrotechnical firepower. Simple.

What the schematics hadn't shown clearly, the incongruity with the scans that Malcolm had discovered earlier, but hadn't had time to resolve, was that the control room was three meters underground.

And underwater.

Malcolm's earlier guess that there had been a plumbing problem had been proven correct—unless there was some reason he couldn't fathom to flood a control room a meter deep with frigid water. Perhaps to keep out aquaphobic armory officers intent on deactivating the weapons, he thought glumly. One of his explosives might have been responsible, or the pipe may have burst naturally. It didn't matter, really—the end result was the same: a very soppy control room.

Staring at the water from his perch on the entrance tunnel's access ladder, he considered the problem. The water hadn't yet reached the control console, which was set higher than would have been comfortable for humans, but which fit the larger Dorlogian physique nicely. He could see panel, a foot above the rising water. He still had time to reach the controls, deactivate them, and escape through the tunnel. There was no danger of electrocution yet, which was fortunate since there was no way of telling if the wiring was insulated to prevent an electric shock should the water reach the console. That was all he needed, he thought wryly, to electrocute himself and then drown. Worse, if the weapons short-circuited they might fire—and they were currently targeting Enterprise. But even his concern for the ship couldn't eclipse by his most pressing worry—the water itself.

It was dangerous. Every instinct told him so, screaming that even considering entering the water was foolish. Malcolm continued staring at the flooded room. If only the water weren't so cloudy and he could see the floor beneath the water. He shuddered at the thought of walking through the murky water, unable to see what might lie below the surface.

'Get control of yourself' he chided. 'It isn't the first time you've had to do this.' But that particular memory didn't help, so he pushed the thought away. 'Just...don't think about it. In, get the job done, and out. Simple, really. A child could do it,' he tried to convince himself.

It wasn't helping, but he had no choice. Trip couldn't deactivate the generator while the weapons were on-line. Malcolm had to turn them off. Lives depended on it. Potentially many lives—including those on board the Enterprise.

It was those lives, not the thousands of faceless ones, that finally got him moving. Dreading the feeling of the water surrounding him, anticipating the unpleasant sensation of wet clothing sticking to his body, he tried to think of something else. He searched his mind for a pleasant image. His birthday celebration. That had been a challenging day, but one where they had been successful, and he'd enjoyed a drink and some pineapple birthday cake with his friends. That had been nice.

He had reached the spot where the tunnel access ladder disappeared into the water. Tentatively he took another step down, his right foot entering the water. He felt it rush over the top of his boot, filling it. It was cold, and he hated the feeling of wet socks. He kept going, forcing his left foot to follow the right, moving down the ladder.

Other nice things—movie night. The movie they'd seen while hiding on the catwalk. He hadn't enjoyed the eight days trapped there, but the movie had been fun. They had even coerced T'Pol into watching it, something he would never have thought possible.

The water had reached his waist now; only a few rungs remained. Gritting his teeth against both his fear and the icy cold of the water, he took the last steps to finally stand on the floor. For several seconds he held tight to the ladder, getting his bearings and working to slow his breathing, using every technique he had ever been heard or read about to combat phobias. Standing chest deep in freezing, opaque water he didn't find them much help. Reluctantly he released the ladder, and shuffling his feet along the floor, hesitant to lose contact with the solid surface, he began moving. Feared slipping and submerging himself he took each step with trepidation, the journey across the control room seeming interminably long, with nothing to hold to provide security against the dark water. An eternity later, teeth chattering and body shaking, he reached the console. He looked at the chronometer on his padd. It had taken five minutes.

Holding tight to the panel he took several calming breaths before turning his attention to his task. As his eyes roamed over the console, he immediately noticed a simple lever, bright red, slightly separated from the other buttons and controls.

He consulted the padd and Hoshi's UT program to confirm his interpretation. The lever was in an "on" position, clearly labeled. The other position was marked "off".

It couldn't be that simple.

Eyeing it suspiciously, he wondered if it was a trick, or perhaps a mock-up. There had to be some sort of security designed into it. He needed to proceed carefully; the consequences of an error would be catastrophic. But caution was warring with his desire to get out of the treacherous water. Fear clouded his judgment, made it hard to think. Shivering so violently that he nearly dropped the padd into the watery depths, he reviewed the information on it a final time. Nothing he saw contradicted the idea that this simple lever was the main control. Out of options, he pulled it.

The blinking lights on the console flashed off. Machinery ground to a halt, and then...silence. The sudden quiet soothed to his tattered nerves. Turning to leave, he released the lever. Immediately the panel lit up again and the lever sprang back into the "on" position.

He stared at it, listening to the machinery starting again, and tried to ignore his mind's clamoring insistence that he leave. He yanked the lever down again, more forcefully this time, and held it there for several seconds before slowly uncurling his fingers to release it. It immediately returned to its previous position, the blinking lights mocking him.

"No! No, No, No!" Letting forth a string of obscenities that would have done any sailor proud he slammed the padd against the console.

The lever wouldn't stay in the "off" position unless he held it there.


	8. Chapter 8

One hundred meters away, Trip was pacing. It had been nearly a half- hour since he and Malcolm had entered the complex, and the weapons still weren't off-line. Until they were, he couldn't deactivate the generator. He had already examined the machine, found the locations of the myriad circuits he needed to close, and confirmed the location of each button, switch and wire he needed to access. It was a sophisticated piece of equipment, with several fail-safes built in, but he had poured over the schematics with Malcolm earlier, and had devised a turn-off sequence. Now, he just needed the weapons to go off-line.

Trip had wanted to simply plant explosives around the generator and detonate it from outside, as they were doing with the weapons, but Malcolm had insisted that they verify the generator was off-line, with no possibility of re-activation, before they blew up the weapons. The risk was too great, Malcolm had argued, with the weapons targeting Enterprise. His argument had persuaded Trip.

What could be taking so long? Malcolm had estimated it would take him ten, fifteen minutes at the most, to make his way to the control room, and another five to turn off the weapons. So why were they still on-line?

Trip saw a flicker in the power on his scanner's display. Finally. 'Good job, Malcolm,' he thought. But before he could take even a step toward the generator, the weapons were back on-line. He tapped the top of the scanner with his index finger, wondering what Malcolm was doing. The weapons went off-line again. This time Trip made it several feet closer to the first circuit he planned to deactivate, before the weapons came back on.

Damn! What the hell was Malcolm doing? Trip grabbed for his communicator, but stopped himself. He didn't know Malcolm's situation. If for some reason the armory officer needed silence, Trip didn't want to create a problem for him. Malcolm would communicate with him if he needed to. Trip sat down to wait, his eyes glued to his scanner.

* * *

Malcolm looked around the nearly submerged control room for anything he might be able to use to fasten the lever into position. There was nothing; anything that might have been of use was submerged.

He grabbed the lever, and once more pulled it down, this time keeping his grip on it. His free hand still held the padd, and with both hands so occupied he could no longer grip the console. His heart, which had settled into a more normal rhythm, began racing again and he felt the choking sensation and tightening of his chest that always came with the fear. He tried again to ignore it, to use the calming techniques, but to no avail. He knew that a phobia was, by definition, an unreasonable fear but knowing that his terror was irrational did nothing to lessen it. The fear was too large, the danger too close and too real, for the techniques to be of any help.

The chronometer embedded in his padd indicated he was running out of time. Trip should be very close to attempting to disable the generators. Malcolm couldn't let the weapons go back on line. If they did, and Trip had begun working, the tampering would be detected and trigger the fail safe, firing the weapons. The surge of energy could kill Trip, too. Malcolm would have to hold the lever down until he was either certain that Trip had succeeded, or until Trip came looking for him...and then realization hit. The engineer wouldn't be returning here; he would go to meet Malcolm at the rendezvous point.

Malcolm tried to think rationally despite the smothering fear. If Trip was successful, the power and lighting in this room would go out and he'd know it was safe to let the lever go. The thought of crossing the water in the dark was chilling—or it would have been, if he hadn't already been so cold. His convulsive shivering risked inadvertently pulling his hand off the lever. He gripped it harder, determined not to let that happen.

He hoped Trip would hurry.

* * *

"Youch!" Trip snatched his hand away from the open panel. He stifled his curses, remembering the need for silence. Shaking the sore hand, he realized he was getting careless, and climbed off the generator to take a break. Leaning against the wall, he checked his chronometer, and again cursed.

Fifteen minutes. It should have only taken fifteen minutes to deactivate the generator, and it had now been almost three hours. The process had turned out to be more difficult than he'd anticipated. Several panels had refused to budge and he'd had to sneak around until he found tools, and then risk making noise as he pounded at the stubborn bolts and hinges. Fortunately the noise of the generator masked the sounds he was making, both his pounding and his too frequent cries of pain as he managed to burn both hands and acquire an impressive assortment of cuts and scrapes from the unfamiliar equipment.

"If the damn things you're connected to weren't pointing at my ship, I'd just blow you the hell up, and let you shoot your weapons," he informed the generator. Wearily he pushed himself away from the wall and returned to work on what he hoped was the last wire. 'At least Malcolm's had plenty of time to get out of here. I just hope he doesn't get trigger happy and decide to give me up as a lost cause and blow the whole shebang up.' That thought hit a bit too close to home, making him slightly uncomfortable. Malcolm had been testy and jumpy since the start of this mission; he knew that Malcolm wouldn't _really_ blow him up, but in his current mood the armory officer might be sorely tempted. They really had to talk. But that was for later—right now he had to finish this job. 'Malcolm must be wondering what's taking me so long', he thought.

* * *

What could be taking Trip so long?

The lights had gone out. The rising water had reached the console and there had been an impressive sparking display followed by the overhead light blinking out. It hadn't electrocuted him, but he now had no way to tell when Trip killed the generator. He had a torch in his pack, but he had left it up above, hidden near the tunnel entrance.

He had no way to judge time. The hours in the cold water had drained his energy, and his head sagged. His arm had fallen asleep. He had been holding the lever down with his left hand, and holding the padd with his right one, but holding his arms above his head was exhausting; between that and the numbing cold his fingers had lost feeling and he'd dropped the padd into the now shoulder-high water. At least he'd been able to lower his arm, and switch hands on the lever, resting his tired and cramping muscles.

Nearly submerged in the freezing water, Malcolm alternated between believing Trip would return with the news that it was safe to release the lever, and fearing the engineer would be unable to turn off the generator...or would be killed trying. The generator held tremendous power—an accident was not unlikely. How long should he wait before giving up and crawling back up the tunnel?

What would Trip do when he discovered that Malcolm wasn't waiting for him at the rendezvous point? A terrifying possibility loomed. He tried to push it out of his mind, but it lingered, tormenting him.

What if, when he didn't find Malcolm at the rendezvous point, Trip decided to destroy the weapons and depart? The possibility haunted Malcolm. Part of him insisted that he wouldn't be left here. Surely Trip would scan the complex and pick up his biosigns...unless they were masked by the water, or by being underground. If he couldn't locate Malcolm, might Trip decide that, in the best interest of the mission, it was necessary to blow the weapons up, even with Malcolm still inside the complex?

Three months ago, Malcolm wouldn't have considered it a serious possibility. He would have had absolute faith that Trip, or any of his crewmates for that matter, would exhaust every possible solution before allowing anyone to be left behind. But doubt had been planted; it was corrosive and had eaten away at his confidence in the other man. He hadn't lied when he told Trip that he was no longer angry at him—he had worked past that emotion—but the confidence, the trust that had been eroded, hadn't been restored. As much as he wanted to have faith that he wouldn't be abandoned, once the spectre had been raised he couldn't dismiss it. And Captain Archer _had_ made it clear that the weapons must be destroyed.

Surrounded by water, deep beneath the complex, Malcolm knew he would almost certainly survive the explosions—if the rush of water from bursting water mains didn't fill the room too quickly. Malcolm bitterly regretted having planted explosives by the pipes. But if he survived the explosion, he would almost certainly be discovered by the returning workers. The thought of being caught by the Vericans and turned over to the Dorlogians, in their hands again, panicked him; desperate to escape the water, the Dorlogians, and the uncertainty he nearly released the lever. Just in time, he caught himself. With an effort he forced deep breaths, regaining enough control to keep his hand firmly on the control.

Enterprise wouldn't leave, he tried to convince himself. Captain Archer would never, ever, allow that. As long as Malcolm was alive, they wouldn't desert him. But what if they believed he was dead? What if Trip told them about the situation on the planet, and they decided he must have died, or that the risk in retrieving him was simply too great? As tactical officer he would have advised against putting anyone else at risk to rescue a single crewman.

A small amount of light trickled down the access tunnel, but it didn't provide much illumination. In darkness, numbed by the cold, and surrounded by a terrifying amount of water, Malcolm's fear took on weight. He wondered, again, how long had he been in the freezing water. Surely there had been ample time for Trip to deactivate the generator. After all, it was just a matter of pulling a few wires, wasn't it? Of course, the engineer had to make sure the generators were completely and permanently destroyed, so that the destructive power could not be re-created, and double-check for any signs of Starfleet technology in the computer databases. They had decided not to destroy the databases entirely, since they contained information the people of this world would need to reconstruct their old technologies, and sorting through the files would be time consuming. But how long could that take?

Freezing, Malcolm shuddered again. He tried to ignore the cold and focus on creating a plan for getting off the planet in one piece, but they'd already made a plan, and it was sound. There weren't any more details to figure out—it was a poor distraction.

The water, on the other hand, was a magnificent, albeit unpleasant distraction. It had continued to rise, and now he could feel it lapping at his chin. The lever was still above the water's surface, but it wouldn't be long before he would be forced to release it or drown. He shivered again, only partially from the cold. He wondered darkly if all their efforts had been for naught. They could have just waited until the control room flooded and shorted out the weapons circuits. But that might not have worked. It was possible that the first thing that would happen when water hit the wires was that the weapons would fire at Enterprise. Or at some other hapless ship in orbit. Their efforts were not wasted, he told himself. He couldn't let himself see it any other way. This was necessary. But oh, he wished Trip would hurry and turn the power off.

He could drown here. The irony was delicious. He had come all the way out into space to drown. Somehow the thought didn't panic him, as it might once have. Perhaps he was too cold to care. He thought that he might have another ten minutes before the water was up to his nose. At that point he would have to give up and release the lever. There was no sense in allowing himself to be drowned—the moment he was unconscious, his hand would release the lever anyway, and the weapons would be activated again unless Trip had been successful.

He was torn with the need to make a decision. Not knowing Trip's status, he didn't know if holding out even a little bit longer might make a difference, might buy the critical seconds that allowed Trip to complete his work. It seemed unlikely that a few extra seconds could make a difference, and Malcolm didn't want to drown in a futile effort. Mentally he prepared himself to release the lever...but found he couldn't.

A battle raged in his mind. Part of him, a loudly, clamoring part claimed leaving was the only sane thing to do—if Trip hadn't managed to disable the generator yet, he never would. Trip had probably left already. Malcolm should give up too. But another part, a very stubborn part that spoke in a quiet voice insisted this was Dorlog all over again—he was going endanger Enterprise to save his own skin.

Malcolm, frozen physically by the cold water, and mentally with indecision, once again prepared to let go of the lever.

No.

He wouldn't allow it, wouldn't repeat his mistake. He would not risk Enterprise.

* * *

The silence was shocking. For the last three hours, Trip had worked in an environment of constant, jarring, grating noise, accompanied by the huge machine's vibrations. The sudden cessation of noise took him by surprise. It was a few seconds before the implications sunk in.

"Yes!" He pounded his right fist into his open left hand, and then choked back a cry at the pain from the burns, but even the pain couldn't quell his victory. The generator had at last been stilled, and could no longer send a message to the weapons to fire. Now, to make the deactivation permanent...Trip moved away from the generator. Time was at a premium. It wouldn't be long, probably only a matter of minutes, before someone came to check on the generator; he had to destroy it before that happened. Moving as quickly as he could, he moved toward several heavy pieces of equipment that resembled old Earth bulldozers. Ducking behind one, he pulled the detonator from his pocket. Hoping no one had reached the generator yet, he activated the device.

A sonorous boom was followed by vibrations that shook the building. Immediately sirens shrieked warnings to anyone who would listen. Trip was already moving, making his way to the rear door. He listened for the sound of people responding but heard nothing. Odd. He knew there had been at least ten people in the building when they had entered; it was strange that nobody was responding to the emergency. But that wasn't his concern. He just wanted out, to get to a safe place where he and Malcolm could blow the much more powerful explosives to destroy the weapons.

Trip slid out the back door, staying in the shadows until he reached the breach in the fence. It only took him a moment to clear the fence, and then he was on his way up the slight incline to their hiding spot. Glancing back, he couldn't stop a grin. Ten Vericans were standing outside the main entrance to the building, pacing back and forth, talking loudly and gesturing wildly. Trip could tell what had happened. They had been outside, probably taking a break, when the explosion had occurred. Now they were afraid to enter the building. Malcolm would get a kick out of it, even if he would be disappointed in their ineptitude. Trip hurried to the rendezvous point, the anticipation of telling the story giving his weary body energy.

Malcolm wasn't there.

* * *

Shielded by the water, and underneath the main complex, Malcolm didn't feel the vibration or hear the rumbling noise. His head was tilted back to keep his face out of the water, only his arm and the hand grasping the lever still above the water's surface. He was almost completely numb, and his mind wasn't working well. He forced himself to stay focused on two tasks: keep the lever pulled down, and keep his face above the water. Nothing else mattered. His shivering was continuous now. He wondered, yet again, how much time had passed. Surely Trip had deactivated the generator by now. Surely...his eyes drifted closed and he slid an inch deeper into the water. He jerked awake as cold water contacted previously dry flesh. He struggled to stay awake, to buy a few more seconds, hoping they would make a difference.

* * *

Sitting against a tree, Trip anxiously watched the horizon where the sky was beginning to lighten. It wouldn't be long before the sun rose, and if the previous day was any indication the workers would arrive at roughly the same time. He needed to blow the weapons before then, or risk killing hundreds of innocent beings.

Where the hell was Malcolm?

Trip stood up, grabbing a tree for support. Head low and feet dragging, he began making his way back towards the complex, trying to decide what to do. Malcolm had to have reached the weapon's control room—the weapons had gone off-line, and they hadn't fired when the generator died. So why hadn't Malcolm returned to the rendezvous point as ordered?

Trip rubbed his weary eyes. There were only two reasons he could think of: either Malcolm had been discovered, or he had been hurt. But Trip had seen the evening shift workers outside the complex. There was no indication that they had discovered anyone. They would have been inside if they had. That left only one option: Malcolm must be hurt.

Trip glanced back at the sky, now definitely a lighter shade, and picked up his pace. When he got to the hiding spot where they had spent the day observing the complex, he stopped. The workers were inside again—undoubtedly they had discovered the damage to the generator by now, and soon they would realize the implications—sabotage—and would inform the Dorlogians.

An idea struck Trip. "Tucker to Shuttlepod Two."

"Shuttlepod Two here." The reply was immediate.

"Travis, can you detect Malcolm's biosign inside the complex? The generator's off now, so there shouldn't be anything to interfere with your scans."

"Aye, Commander. We read him."

"Good! Ask Enterprise to transport him out of there, and deposit him right here, unless he's injured. I want to have a few words with him."

There was a moment of silence during which Malcolm did not appear. Finally, Travis's voice returned. "Sorry, Commander. They can't get a lock. Something about where he is, underground or underwater, too many layers or something. They weren't very clear about the problem."

"Okay, Travis. I'll be back in touch shortly. Tucker out." Trip snapped the communicator shut without looking at it; he was studying the horizon again, trying to determine precisely how much time he had; the first rays of sunshine were now visible. This would be their only chance to destroy the weapons. Once the damage to the generator was confirmed as sabotage, the workers were sure to do a thorough search and discover the explosives wired to the weapons. They would remove them and increase their security. If Trip didn't detonate the devices before the workers arrived, it would be too late. They wouldn't get a second chance; Starfleet's technology would be fair game to whoever could afford to purchase it.

Trip hated what he was thinking, but he had to consider all his options, and he knew the smartest thing to do, the best way to make sure the mission was accomplished, was to destroy the weapons now. If Malcolm wasn't out of the complex in the next fifteen minutes, Trip thought, he would have to detonate the explosives rigged to the weapons, and hope his crewmate was under cover. They could try to retrieve him with the transporter later, although Trip knew that was an iffy proposition.

He couldn't do it.

If there was one chance in a hundred that he could save the man whose friendship he had been trying so hard to regain, he would do it. If necessary, he would detonate the weapons while they were both still in the complex. It might kill them both, or result in their capture...but he wouldn't abandon his friend.

Trip ran. He ignored the need for stealth, the need for speed greater, until he entered the front door of the complex. No one was immediately in sight, but he could hear agitated voices from the direction of the generator. Reinforcements were on the way. Trip broke into a dead sprint toward the control room.


	9. Chapter 9

"Malcolm? Where are you?"

Trip? Was that Trip's voice? Malcolm was nearly unconscious with the cold, and for a moment he thought he must be hearing things.

"I'm here," he muttered, the sound of his voice only traveling a few feet.

"Malcolm! Malcolm, damn it, where did you go?"

Malcolm could hear Trip's frantic voice as he searched the area above the control room for the armory officer. Malcolm needed to make himself heard.

"Commander!" he called. His trembling voice was still much too quiet, but this time it traveled a little further. The footsteps stopped.

"Malcolm, is that you? Did I hear something?"

"D..down...h...here," Malcolm called. "I'm...d..down...here."

* * *

Trip was perplexed. He had followed the schematics where the control room should be, but had not been able to find it. He began calling Malcolm, trying to keep his voice low to avoid attracting attention, but desperate to find the armory officer and get out of the complex. Where could Malcolm have gone? The scanner indicated biosigns right here...

Trip stopped. He'd heard something. He stood still, listening. When the faint sound came again he moved slowly towards it...and nearly fell into an open hole. Looking down he saw a ladder on the side of the tunnel. He shed his pack, found his flashlight, and took a few steps down the ladder. "Malcolm?"

"I'm...d..down...here."

Trip continued down the ladder a few more rungs before turning and shining the light into the room. He was far enough down that he could see across the room—and what he saw stunned him. The room was filled with water. With the exception of his face, and one hand, Malcolm was submerged. The one visible hand was clutching a lever on the wall.

"Malcolm? What are you doing? Why are you in there?

"W..weapons...control...r..room...Have to k..keep the w..weapons off."

"Malcolm, it's okay now. The generator was destroyed. The weapons won't fire."

"The g...generator...g..gone?"

"Yes. Everything is deactivated. But we have to get out of here. Come on." Trip wasn't sure why Malcolm had remained in the control room, but this was no time for questions.

Malcolm didn't move, continued holding the lever down. Trip began to grow frantic; the Vericans, or worse the Dorlogians, could find them any moment. "Malcolm, come on!"

Malcolm still didn't release the lever immediately, and Trip was considering jumping in the water and forcibly dragging him away from the control panel when the armory officer finally, slowly let go of the control. He was still moving much too slowly, though. "Malcolm, hurry! Please!"

* * *

Trip had come back. The generator was off. He could let go of the lever. It was hard for Malcolm to comprehend, to believe that it was at last okay to let go, but Trip's insistence that it was safe convinced him—he'd accomplished what he needed to. It took a real effort to make his fingers release the lever he'd been holding down for so long, and it took another ten minutes for Malcolm to make his way across the room. His relief at the thought of getting out of the cold water helped push his fear to the back of his mind, but he had to tilt his head back to keep his face out of the water, and this, as well as his numbed limbs, slowed him. Trip was pleading with him to hurry, telling him to just swim across the room, but he wasn't able to move any faster, and some deep part of him remained reluctant to lose the small amount of contact with the ground. Reaching the tunnel, he looked up. Trip had scrambled back up the ladder and out the entrance; he directed his flashlight down into the darkness, providing light, and watched as his crewmate climbed. Malcolm was shaking so hard he could barely move, his numb fingers unable to grasp the rungs tightly. When he stopped to rest, Trip urged him on.

"Malcolm, you've got to hurry." Trip's desperate voice penetrated Malcolm's fog, and he tried to obey, tried to make his frozen limbs move faster. He was almost at the top, when they stopped working altogether, and he began to slide back into the water.

* * *

Trip saw Malcolm's hands slip, and he reached down into the tunnel and grabbed the back of his collar just before he slid out of reach. Trip hauled Malcolm up the last few feet, and over the tunnel's edge. The armory officer lay on the floor, panting with effort and shivering with cold. His teeth were chattering so hard he couldn't speak. His lips and fingertips were blue, and his eyes were glazed. Trip had a lot of questions, but there wasn't time right now.

"Malcolm? Can you hear me? Malcolm?" Trip tried to get a response.

"Ye...e...s...s," Malcolm chattered. "So...c..c..cold."

Trip leaned over and grabbed Malcolm under the arms, lifting him to his feet. Grabbing his shoulders he shook him. Hard. "Malcolm. We've got to get out of here. Now. The workers will be back soon. Do you understand me?"

Malcolm nodded, his head jerking up and down spasmodically. Trip found both packs, and shouldered them, and then put a supportive hand under his elbow and they began moving toward the front exit. Malcolm pulled back. "W...wait."

"Malcolm, there isn't any time!" Trip was frantic.

"Cl...cl..oser...d...door," Malcolm managed through chattering teeth. "S...saw it...on the w...weapons...schematics."

"Are you sure?"

Another shivering, convulsive nod.

"Fine. Which way?"

Malcolm's quivering arm pointed out the direction, and Trip turned and headed that way, half-dragging the stumbling armory officer. After they'd traveled just fifty meters, Malcolm was proven right. There was a small door, much like the one they'd been using to gain entrance. This one was locked with a deadbolt to prevent entrance from the outside, but not to prevent exit. Trip slammed the bolt open, and pulling Malcolm with him, left the building

Whether it was adrenalin, or because he was starting to warm up, Malcolm was able to move faster as they headed toward the fence. They weren't at their normal breach point, so Trip pulled out his phaser, glad Malcolm had insisted they remain armed, and blew a hole in the fence. Malcolm worked his way through first, with Trip following on his heels. Finally clear of the complex they stopped. Trip pulled out his padd, and hit a button. He grinned at Malcolm's reaction as loud, sirens began blowing, and a magnified voice blared through the complex's speakers.

"Attention! Attention! Vacate this complex immediately. It will be destroyed in five minutes. Attention..." Trip's voice repeated the message over and over as they made their way up to the now familiar hiding spot.

"H...how'd you...m...manage..." Malcolm's teeth were still chattering too hard for him to speak clearly, but Trip understood the question well enough.

"Easy. Just programmed the message into the intercom system computer and set up a link to my padd so I could activate it remotely. Hey, I promised we'd try not to hurt anyone."

Malcolm looked at him, and Trip could see the relief. They continued walking for a few minutes, and then Trip spoke again.

"Well, it's been five minutes. You want to do the honors? I already got to blow up the generator." Trip grinned at Malcolm, wanting to break the solemn moment.

"My...d...detonator...g..got...wet..."

"Here." Trip started to hand over his own detonator, and then realized that Malcolm's hands were trembling too hard to enter the needed command. He tapped the code into the keypad and handed the detonator to the armory officer. "All ready to go. Just hit 'enter'."

Malcolm checked the complex, confirming that the night workers were all huddled in a small group clear of the building, and then looked in the direction of the road where already a line of vehicles carrying the arriving workers could be seen. With fingers that were still blue, he pushed the detonator.

The roof went straight up. Under it, white clouds and fingers of flame lifted up, and a fireball exploded slowly outwards above the building. A wave of heat hit them at almost the same instant as the sound. The roof crashed back down, almost directly on top of the building, and slowly collapsed downward. The external walls remained standing, although the engineer knew they were no longer structurally sound and would have to be rebuilt if the complex were to be used again. Malcolm was watching the explosion with pleasure. Trip grinned at him, and then teased, "The walls didn't go down."

"I...used...r..restraint," Malcolm replied with a slight smile. Trip kept grinning, watching the results of the explosion. There were no fires; the water mains Malcolm had rigged had done their job. The arriving workers had left their vehicles and were staring at the destroyed building with awe.

For a few minutes Trip and Malcolm simply watched the activity below. When the Dorlogians arrived, Trip decided it was time to leave. He tugged on Malcolm's arm to get his attention, and they moved further into the forest out of site. Malcolm had pulled out his communicator.

"R...Reed...to...E...Enterprise," he said, his voice still quavering. There was no response, not even static. Malcolm stared at the communicator dumbly.

"I think the water got it, Malcolm. Try mine." Trip offered his communicator to Malcolm, at the same time pulling him further along the trail, eager to get as far from the complex as possible.

"R...Reed...to...E...Enterprise," Malcolm tried again.

"Enterprise here." Hoshi's response was immediate.

"E...Ensign, c..could you p..please r...run a scan of the c...c...complex. Are there any b...biosigns inside the b..b..building?" Malcolm's voice shook as he continued to shiver uncontrollably.

"No, Lieutenant. There are several outside the building, but none inside. There were none inside before the explosion either. I was scanning. I got the recording for you, but I'm afraid it's not too impressive. It was a pretty small explosion." Hoshi's tone was teasing, and it caught Trip's attention. A glance at Malcolm showed the armory officer wearing a small smile. Yes, Trip thought, he would have to investigate this further. Later. Right now he needed to get back to business. He took the communicator from Malcolm.

"Hoshi, tell Shuttlepod Two to return to Enterprise. There's nowhere for them to land safely, and they'd draw a lot of attention. Right now, I'd just as soon let the Dorlogians think that it was a mechanical problem, or internal sabotage or whatever, and give us time to get Enterprise away from here," Trip instructed.

"Aye, sir. Shuttlepod Two already told us they didn't think they could find a place to land, but they wanted to stay around in case there was something they could do to help."

"Tell them thanks. We'll be heading back to Shuttlepod One now."

"Aye, sir." Hoshi closed the connection from her end, and Trip turned back to Malcolm just in time to see the armory officer waver. Trip grabbed Malcolm's arm and helped him lower himself to the ground and then grabbed the first aid kit from his pack. He pulled out an emergency blanket. Opening the four-inch by four-inch silver packaging, he pulled out the shiny piece of material and kneeling by his friend, wrapped the shaking man in the blanket. He would have to find some way to warm him, Trip realized, remembering his basic first aid. A hypothermic person couldn't generate their own heat; blankets alone would do little good. At least Malcolm was still shivering—he was still able to generate some body heat, but Trip didn't know how long that would last. Malcolm was still soaking wet. Trip vaguely recalled a time he had been suffering from heat exhaustion. The captain had found water that wasn't drinkable, but had used the phase pistol to heat rocks to boil the water. Trip decided to try it.

"Malcolm, I'm going to go get some rocks. I'll be right back." Malcolm nodded his head, his chattering teeth making speech too difficult to bother trying to reply.

Trip stepped back into the forest, using his flashlight to scan for rocks. They were hard to find in the dark, but he managed to collect a few that seemed to be of the right material and size. He hurried back to Malcolm, hoping the armory officer was still conscious. Malcolm was still awake, but barely. His eyelids were drooping, and it took Trip several seconds to get a response from him. The engineer threw the rocks down, pulled the phase pistol from his side, and aimed them at the rocks. Within a few seconds they glowed red. Without further prompting, Malcolm inched closer to them.

"H...how...did...you th-th-think to do th-that?"

"Captain came up with it. When we were stranded on that desert planet."

"Cl-cl-clever."

"Yeah. You feeling any warmer?"

"A l-little. I can't b-believe it worked."

Trip smiled broadly. "It sure did.

* * *

"I suppose we should start back to the shuttlepod," Malcolm commented several minutes later. His teeth had stopped chattering, but his lips and skin still had a bluish cast.

"Yeah, I guess we should. But we can sit here a little longer, let you warm up. How long were you down in that water?"

"I'm not sure. Since shortly after we separated."

Trip's eyes widened. "You were in that water the whole time? Lord almighty, no wonder you're so cold. Let me give the rocks another jolt. See if you can get a little dried out before we start moving." Trip blasted the rocks again, and they glowed red. Malcolm reached his hands out over the warmth, wincing at the returning circulation. He looked over at Trip, for the first time noticing the condition of the engineer.

"What happened to you?"

Trip looked a little embarrassed. "I got a little too close to a temperamental wire right before I blew the generator. Too bad you missed it. It made a hell of a boom."

Malcolm's face fell. "I don't suppose you recorded it?"

"Nah. I was gonna, but I was kinda in a hurry. Guess that's why I got careless."

"Come over here." Malcolm beckoned him over, and grasped Trip's wrists, turning his hands palm up to examine them. "You burned them rather badly. They're starting to blister. How do they feel?"

"They sting," Trip admitted.

"Are you burned anywhere else?" Malcolm asked. Burns could be dangerous.

"My back—it's sunburned. I took my shirt off for a while you were sleeping."

"And didn't put on sun protection?" Malcolm chided him. "Whatever will Dr. Phlox say?"

"He'll lecture me, so you don't need to," Trip grumbled.

"Have you put anything on it? Or taken a painkiller?"

"Not yet..."

Malcolm shot him an exasperated look, and pulled the med kit over and opened it. He studied the contents. "Look. There is a gel for burns right here. Why don't you at least put that on your hands? And there's some mild analgesic that should be just right for the sunburn..."

Trip allowed Malcolm to give him the medicine, and assist him with the gel. "That does feel better."

"Good." Malcolm stood up, and stomped his feet, promoting circulation. His teeth were no longer chattering, and his lips weren't so blue.

Trip, busy returning the supplies to the first aid kit, glanced up. "You trying to tell me something?"

"I think we should get moving, Commander. Someone is sure to investigate when they notice the damage to their little 'showroom' wasn't just a mechanical malfunction. I don't particularly want to be here." Malcolm had folded up the emergency blanket, and put it in his pack, which he was throwing over his shoulders.

"You've got a point."

"Can you carry a pack? With your back burned? Why don't you give me some of the things in there—"

"So you can give me grief about it for the next six months? No, I'll carry it myself." Trip smiled to take the sting out of his words. "Really, Malcolm, I'm okay. That gel stuff helped a lot."

Malcolm's expression said he didn't believe him, but he didn't say anything. Too tired to walk and talk at the same time, they silently began hiking.


	10. Chapter 10

Trip stared up at the cliff silhouetted against the sky. It had been intimidating when they'd rappelled down during daylight, and it was even more imposing at twilight. Trip debated the effort it would take to scale, and shaking his head glanced over at his companion. Malcolm, also drooping with weariness, was eyeballing the stone monster.

Despite their exhaustion, they had made good time, driven by their desire to return home. The last few miles had been the most difficult, requiring them to cross back over the river, which somehow seemed to have swollen in their absence. It had taken the last of their energy to negotiate it. Malcolm had begun shivering on the riverbank, and still hadn't stopped. Trip had thought the chilly water felt good after the long hike, but perhaps Malcolm was still damp from his earlier drenching.

"Lieutenant, we're not going to try that tonight. It's too dark, too dangerous. We can tackle it in the morning." Trip used Malcolm's rank to emphasize that this was an official decision, and there was no point in disagreeing. But Malcolm showed no inclination to argue.

"Fine." Malcolm shifted his pack to a more comfortable position. "Any thoughts on where you'd like to sleep?"

"Well, that 'Bed and Breakfast' I saw on the way in seems to have disappeared, so I guess that little alcove at the base of the cliff will have to do."

Malcolm chuckled in reply, and they walked the base of the cliff, looking for the indentation in the stone face they'd spotted on the first day; it was obscured by the darkness and took time to find. Too tired for conversation, they pulled tarps out of their packs, laid them on the ground, and then set up a tiny shelter within the space. Speaking only when necessary, they made a small fire, using their phase pistols to light it. Only when their camp was established did they rest; Trip knew if they'd stopped to take a break it would be even more difficult to get back to work—it would be too easy to just collapse where they were. It was important they set up a warm, safe camp where they could get adequate sleep before attempting the climb the next day.

The stone walls reflected the heat, and soon their clothes were nearly dry. The two men sat, backs against the rocks, resting in silence. Glancing at his companion, Trip saw that Malcolm's eyes were closed; the engineer couldn't tell if he was asleep or not. Leaning his head back against the rock wall, Trip closed his own eyes, trying to ignore the weariness that seemed to have seeped into his very core. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this tired. But despite his exhaustion, he was pleased with what they had accomplished. It was all worth it. They had quite possibly prevented thousands of deaths. No small feat for a day's—okay, a few days—worth of work. He figured he had a right to feel a little proud. As though reading his mind, Malcolm said, "All in all, not a bad day's work, was it?"

"Nope."

Malcolm opened his eyes and twisted so he could look up the face of the cliff. "I'm really not looking forward to climbing that monster tomorrow."

"Me neither."

Malcolm turned back and resettled himself. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Just dang tired," Trip sighed. "And sunburned. And bruised. And hungry. But I'll be fine in the morning."

"Would you like to break out a ration pack?"

"Naw. Not right now. I guess I'm not really all that hungry after all. Mostly I want to collapse into a little puddle of goo."

The conversation died again, and they watched the flames of the fire dancing, casting eerie shadows on the boulders around them. Malcolm broke the silence. "Commander, I...well, I want to thank you. For coming back. You risked your own life. I know that. Thank you."

Trip tried to catch Malcolm's eye, but the armory officer was looking out at the river they had crossed earlier. Trip remained silent until Malcolm finally turned and met his gaze.

"Malcolm, I don't just leave people behind. Sometimes...sometimes stuff happens and things go wrong—but I _don't_ just leave people behind. I wish you understood that."

Malcolm scrutinized him, seeming to measure the words, and then gave a curt nod.

Trip opened his mouth to speak—and then hesitated. Things were going so well; he didn't want to risk shattering the current mood. But if he had learned anything over the last two months, it was that words that went unspoken could do as much harm as any that were uttered. "Malcolm, I wanna talk to you about something."

Malcolm opened his eyes to look at Trip. He tensed, bracing himself, but his face remained expressionless. "What about?"

Trip paused, unsure how to begin, finally blurting," We were set up."

Instantly Malcolm began scanning the area, trying to identify the danger. He started to rise. He darted a look at Trip—who was staring at him with an open mouth. "Malcolm, what's wrong?"

Malcolm sat back, slowly relaxing. "What do you mean?" he asked carefully, still looking around for the danger Trip had referred to.

"We were set up," Trip repeated. He pulled his pack closer and dug out his padd. "On Dorlog. It's all here. As soon as the captain inquired about supplies, they planned it. All of it."

Malcolm stared at him, mute.

"The sweep of the marketplace...it was timed with our visit. That Director did it. He had Corman there on purpose. They arranged for him to make a getaway, so the officers doin' the sweep would arrest us. So they'd have an official reason to question us, ya know? It was all so choreographed..." Trip trailed off, remembering the shock he'd felt when he'd read the details of the careful planning that had gone into the scheme.

Malcolm reached for the padd. Trip gave it to him and watched as Malcolm read the file that was displayed, and then began scanning through other files, looking for something; he was tapping the keys harder than necessary, and the clicking sound echoed off the surrounding boulders. "Where is it?" he muttered.

"What?" Trip asked, but Malcolm didn't respond, staring at the screen.

"What?" Trip asked again. When Malcolm still didn't answer, Trip inched closer, trying to see the screen. The armory officer ignored him as he studied the padd's display.

"Aw, Malcolm, don't read that. We have the information we need. You don't wanna see that," Trip said, distressed, as he saw what was on the screen. He reached out to stop Malcolm's hand from scrolling any further down the page. Malcolm jerked the padd away, and turned his body to shield the padd from the engineer. Otherwise, he didn't acknowledge Trip.

Trip stood, feeling anger rising inside. "Fine. You just read to your heart's content, but you're not gonna like it." The words were hard darts. Why couldn't Malcolm just leave well enough alone? There was no reason to read the file, he thought, none at all. All the information of value had been on the padds Archer had given them earlier. But Archer hadn't given them _this_ version; this version was from Corman's file. It had been transmitted directly from their interrogator to the smugglers, and gave all the excruciating details of the 'questioning' they had endured. Malcolm was going to insist on tormenting himself by reading it. It angered Trip, far more than he would have expected, that Malcolm was going to force himself to relive the experience. And it terrified Trip as well—he didn't know how Malcolm would react to the information.

Trip hadn't read the whole file. He had found it when searching the computer at the complex for schematics and other details important for their mission. Not realizing what it contained, he had begun skimming it, but the first few sentences had sickened him, and he'd quickly closed the file and moved past it as he hurriedly searched for the schematics they'd needed. The file had been downloaded with all the others he'd found; he'd intended to purge it when he had time. Then Malcolm had discovered the file while they were waiting for nightfall, and he hadn't dared delete it, knowing his crewmate would be furious if he did so. Now he wished that he had taken the time to erase it as soon as he'd discovered it. Neither of them needed to know the things that were in that file.

Malcolm had paused at Trip's words. He tapped a command and the screen went blank. Putting the padd down beside him, he looked up at Trip, his face emotionless. "You're right. I don't believe I want to read that right now."

"You okay?" The question was quiet.

Malcolm nodded. "Yes. I am." But Trip didn't believe him, and he was sick of dancing around topics, leaving questions unspoken, issues unresolved. He was tired of pretending.

"Malcolm. How are you really?" Trip gulped. "I...I know you're still upset with me. You're still sorta mad, aren't cha?"

Malcolm shook his head. He looked up at the engineer. "Hard for me to be angry at anyone right now. Too tired." He shifted his position a little, getting closer to the fire, and making room next to him. "If you're not going to go into the tent, you might as well sit back down."

Trip sat, sensing that Malcolm had more to say, but remained quiet, giving Malcolm time. After a few more minutes, during which they silently soaked up the heat of the fire, Malcolm spoke again.

"I suppose I was still angry when we started this mission. More at myself than anyone else. I'd thought I was past it, but when we picked up that 'sales pitch' it all came back. Enterprise in danger from her own weapons! And our technology being sold, maybe used to hurt people, because what we...I...told. It just brought it all back, and it didn't seem to be bothering you at all—"

"It was though!" Trip protested.

"I suppose. You handle things differently than I do." Malcolm paused again, absently picking up a small stone, turning it over in his hand. "At any rate, I didn't _think_ you were bothered—and that bugged me."

Trip didn't know what to say, so he just listened. Malcolm glanced over to see how his words were being received, and then looked down at the ground. His next words were barely audible, "And I was frightened. The thought of..." Malcolm shuddered.

Trip lifted his head up in a sharp movement, startled by the admission. "Malcolm...I was scared too." He hesitated and then added, "But I don't think about the same things."

Malcolm snorted in disbelief. "What were you afraid of, Commander?"

"That something would go wrong—like it almost did. That I'd screw up again, and you'd have to pay for it. Like last time. Then you'd hate me even more, and we'd never get back to bein' friends."

There was weariness in Trip's voice, and more. The pain and the guilt the engineer still harbored, came through clearly. Trip could hear it in his own words, and for a moment regretted speaking, feeling very vulnerable.

"Trip." Malcolm waited for the engineer to look up before speaking. Trip could see the armory officer in the fire's glow being reflected off the stone wall at their backs, could see the sincerity on his face. "I don't hate you. Not anymore, if I ever did. I was just..." he looked away from the engineer, staring into the dying fire as he gathered his thoughts, and his courage. "I just wasn't sure I could trust you."

Heart pounding, Trip waited for Malcolm to continue, in fearful anticipation of the next words. When Malcolm remained silent, Trip swallowed hard, trying to get moisture into his dry mouth, and managed to speak.

"And now?" The words were forced.

"Now?" Malcolm looked at him with weary eyes. "Right now, I don't know what I feel. I'm exhausted. I'm relieved. And you came back to the complex, risked getting caught, and maybe your life." Malcolm sighed. "All I know is that I don't hate you, and I'm tired of being angry—with you, at the Dorlogians, at my—" he broke off. Closing his eyes he leaned back against the wall, letting the warmth the rocks reflected seep into his back. Just when Trip had decided the conversation was over, Malcolm spoke again, very softly. "I just want to put it all in the past."

Malcolm opened his eyes and looked at the engineer, and Trip saw the sincerity there; Malcolm wasn't exactly smiling, but the lines of tension that had seemed to have become a permanent fixture over the last months had eased. His eyes drifted closed again.

Trip let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Me too," he whispered. A tremendous wave of relief flooded through him, and he felt as though an immense burden had been lifted. He felt like celebrating, but couldn't even think of anything to say, or do. So he just stared at Malcolm, who remained motionless.

"I'm going to go into the shelter and get some sleep," Trip said after several minutes of quiet.

Malcolm forced his eyes open once more and nodded acknowledgement. "I think I'll eat a bit, and try to see if I have any fresh clothes left in the pack. I'll be a few minutes."

"Don't stay up too late. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow." Ignoring his sore body, Trip rose and made his way over to the small shelter. "Good night, Malcolm," he called over his shoulder. Finding his blanket, he was soon snoring, the hard ground not preventing the best sleep he'd had in weeks.

* * *

Malcolm remained outside for a long time, studying the stars and thinking. After a long time he picked up the padd and found the file he'd looked at earlier. Without reading it, he hit the 'delete' key.


	11. Chapter 11

"Awwww! Geez, I'm sore," Trip said as he stood and tried to stretch his tight muscles. He was standing in front of the shelter. "I don't remember the last time I got as much as exercise as I did yesterday."

"I'm feeling it as well," Malcolm said. "I suppose we should get moving again."

"Let's eat a ration, first. It's gonna be a long day. Might as well start it well fed," Trip replied, rummaging through his pack. Malcolm turned, feeling the effects of the previous day, and he too began searching his pack. In their eagerness to put the complex behind them the day before, they hadn't stopped to eat, and last night he'd been too tired to be very hungry. Now there was a gnawing ache in the pit of his stomach. Finding what he wanted, he took a seat on a rock and tore the wrapping off the meal.

For a while they ate in silence. It was going to be a long day, and it wasn't likely to be much fun. They had to climb the cliff and hike to the shuttlepod. It would be evening again before they reached it, and they'd still be a few hours from Enterprise.

"I'm sure glad we left the climbing ropes in place. Should make it a little easier," Trip commented. Malcolm nodded, his mouth full of food.

"I'm done. You?" Trip asked. Malcolm nodded again, as he finished chewing. Hurrying as much as their sore bodies would allow, they packed their gear and the shelter materials, and then they headed back along the base of the cliff, looking for where they had left their ropes.

* * *

"I certainly hope no one found these ropes and has tampered with them," Malcolm said, giving his rope a tentative tug. It seemed secure.

"I don't know who would have found them. We're kilometers from anybody or anything. Nobody would be foolish enough to come to this part of the planet."

The implication of the comment hit them both simultaneously, and they laughed. Malcolm donned his harness and prepared to climb, but then stopped.

"Commander...we rigged the extra rope. Why don't we tie the packs to it? Then we could climb without them, and when we get to the top, we'll just haul them up. That way, we can climb without being hindered by the extra weight."

"Great idea, Malcolm!" Trip had no desire to climb with the heavy, awkward gear. They shed the packs, and tied them together on the end of the extra rope. "Now I'm glad you're so paranoid you insisted on setting a third rope," Trip said happily.

"I'm not paranoid," Malcolm responded automatically, but without any real energy. After a last check of his safety rope, he started climbing.

* * *

Two hours later they were only halfway up the cliff. Taking a break to drink from their canteens and eat the small snacks stuffed into their pockets, they studied the view. Trip turned his attention to the remainder of the climb. "Well, we're halfway up," he commented wearily, looking over at his climbing mate. "Or halfway down," Malcolm replied. The comment didn't really make any sense, but it struck the exhausted men as funny, and they began to laugh. Once started, neither could stop. Every time they looked at each other, they burst into new peals of mirth.

"Stop, stop," Malcolm protested, snorting with laughter. "Oh, my side hurts!"

"It's not me making you laugh," Trip managed. "I didn't say anything funny!"

"Neither did I!" Malcolm replied, truthfully enough. This comment again struck them as incredibly amusing. The gales of laughter echoed off the cliff wall. It was some time before they had regained enough control to resume climbing.

The cliff face appeared sheer, but it did have enough cracks and crevices to allow the men to find handholds and footholds. They had to stop frequently to place safety devices and to tie themselves off. As the climb drug on, their fingers cramped. They hadn't been far into the climb when they'd encountered an unexpected difficulty: Trip's burned hands, blistered and swollen, had difficulty grabbing the handholds and manipulating the safety rope. At one point he slipped and lost about ten feet; fortunately his safety line held. Still, it took him another fifteen minutes to regain the lost ground. When he reached Malcolm, the armory officer wordlessly rigged a safety line between the two and had taken the lead, setting the safety lines, and setting easy to grasp mechanical handholds. He moved carefully, not rushing his climbing partner, and gradually they made progress.

It was another three hours later they were finally able to pull themselves over the lip of the cliff, barely clearing the edge before collapsing. They rested on the grass, too exhausted to even speak. Finally, Malcolm rolled over and raised himself to his hands and knees. He crawled to the edge and peered over it. He was glad heights didn't bother him, and equally glad he was still wearing the safety rope, in the event he went over the edge. The river below was just a ribbon, and he could barely make out their packs.

"Long way down." Trip had joined him at the edge. "Want to pull the packs up now?"

"No. But I guess we should. After all, we're up here, so I guess they should be too," Malcolm said, not making sense, but not caring. Trip shot him a look, but didn't comment. Instead, wincing at the discomfort in his hands, he began pulling the packs up. Malcolm reached over to stop him, grimacing at the engineer's now bloody hands.

It was a laborious task to pull the heavy gear up the side of the cliff, but Trip looped the rope around a tree, and then tied the free edge around his waist so he could help Malcolm pull the packs up without further injury to his hands. They stopped frequently to tie off the rope and rest, but by the time the packs had been pulled over the edge, their remaining strength had been drained.

"Glad you could join us," Trip addressed the inanimate objects at his side. Malcolm half-snorted, half-chuckled. His laughter sparked Trip's, and within seconds they had again lost control. They were still chuckling when they donned the packs and set off to the shuttlepod. In their weary states everything struck them as amusing, and they pointed out to each other all the humorous things they say on the way back, occasionally having to stop to catch their breaths.

* * *

"Home sweet home!" Trip caught sight of the shuttlepod first. They trudged the last few hundred meters to the craft. Tossing their packs and equipment into it, they climbed in and collapsed into their seats.

Malcolm sighed with pleasure. "Oh this is lovely. I never thought a shuttlepod seat would feel so wonderful." Automatically he pulled out the checklist and they ran through it, working efficiently, despite their fatigue. When they had finished, Trip hit the communications console.

"Shuttlepod One to Enterprise."

"This is Enterprise." Hoshi's welcome voice was followed almost immediately by Archer's.

"Commander Tucker! Lieutenant Reed! I take it everything went according to plan?"

"Well...we had to improvise some," Trip hedged. "We'll tell you all about it when we get up there."

"Everything okay, Trip?"

"Yeah, Captain, everything's just fine. We're ready to get home. See you in a little while." Trip closed the communications channel.

Malcolm had completed the pre-flight checklist. Feeling as though he were fighting through molasses, having to force his limbs into action, Malcolm assisted Trip in getting the shuttlepod into orbit. Once clear of the planet, he set the course, and then, taking a deep, tired breath, leaned back in his chair.

"I can't wait to get a nice, hot shower," Trip said, also getting comfortable in his seat.

"That does sound wonderful," Malcolm agreed. "How is your sunburn?"

"Oh, it isn't too bad." Trip's drawl was pronounced, a sure sign he was exhausted. "You finally warming up?"

"The climb did that quite nicely," Malcolm yawned. "I'll be glad to sleep in my own soft, warm bunk tonight."

"Forget tonight. I'm hitting the hay the instant we get out of decon."

"What about the report? The captain will want to know—"

"The captain will wait," Trip said with certainty. "Absolutely nothin that can't wait—" he, too, yawned deeply, "till tomorrow."

"I suppose." Malcolm remained silent for a few moments. "We really got lucky. This mission could have easily gone awry—"

"But it didn't," Trip said forcefully. He moved to sit up straight, and turned to look at Malcolm. "We got it done. We aren't going to have to worry about this anymore. Ever." He repeated the word, firmly. "Ever."

Malcolm smiled, understanding that Trip meant more than this specific mission. "No. It's over now."

They fell silent again, a comfortable, companionable silence. Malcolm leaned against the seat cushions, staring ahead, not really paying attention to anything, just enjoying the release of tension. He yawned again. He couldn't sleep here; they were still on duty, and he was the navigator...

Malcolm's eyes snapped open. Trip was watching him from the corner of his eye and grinning.

"You snore."

"I most certainly do not!"

"Yeah you do."

Deciding there was no way to win this argument, Malcolm ignored the last comment, and ran his eyes over the navigation console. All was well there, so he finally raised his eyes to find Trip still grinning.

"Don't worry. I won't tell you fell asleep at the controls, Lieutenant," Trip teased.

"I didn't—okay, I guess I did," Malcolm admitted.

Trip chuckled. "Don't feel bad. I drifted there a moment myself. We'll just keep it to ourselves. But we gotta stay awake until we get to Enterprise. It's about a half hour away now."

Malcolm nodded, suppressing yet another yawn that threatened to undermine his intentions. "How are we going to manage that?" His eyes drifted closed again.

"Want to play a game?"

"No, not really. Too tired to focus."

"Come on, Lieutenant. We've got to stay awake."

"Okay. What game do you suggest?"

"Twenty questions?"

"Fine. I'll start..." Malcolm swallowed another yawn, and Trip chuckled. They played the game until they were back on Enterprise.

* * *

Archer met them as they left decon. "Congratulations, gentlemen. I've had Hoshi and T'Pol conducting scans. The weapons and generator were completed destroyed. And the natives have their old power system at fifty percent capacity already. T'Pol estimates that within two days they'll have restored their power levels to what they were before they were given the generator."

Trip and Malcolm both smiled at the news, but neither spoke. Archer could see their exhaustion, but there was also a sense of relief, an ease that hadn't been between them when they'd left. Something good happened down there, he thought. "Dr. Phlox wants to take a quick look at you, and then you're relieved of duty for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, I'll want a report in the morning, but then take the rest of it off, too."

"Aye, sir," Malcolm said.

"Won't argue with that, Captain," Trip added. Both men took seats on biobeds, and Archer left them, pleased that for once an away mission ended with the entire team intact.

* * *

"Tired, worn out, one half-frozen, the other half-fried...and quite pleased with themselves." That was how Phlox reported to the captain on the condition of the triumphantly returned away team a short time later.

"So they're okay?" the captain asked, not quite certain how to interpret the doctor's rather odd report.

"They're fine...like I said, just exhausted, a few blisters. I would have released them, but by the time I was done with the examination, they were both sound asleep, so I didn't disturb them. When they wake up I'll send them to their quarters to sleep some more. Other than that...they don't need my services at all. In fact, this is one of the rare occasions when I don't feel that either should stay in sickbay overnight, which is rather unexpected, considering who we're talking about. Startling, really."

Archer smiled. "You didn't tell them, did you?"

"Of course not, Captain! You made it clear that you wanted to see their faces when they saw the 'surprise' you have for them."

"Good. Call me when they wake up."

* * *

"...So I drug his half-drowned carcass out of the tunnel. We used that idea you had when we were stuck on that desert planet—you know, heating rocks with the phaser, to warm up..." Trip rambled on, stopping only to shove another forkful of food into his mouth. They were having breakfast in the Captain's Mess, so they could eat while giving their report. Archer glanced sharply over at Malcolm at the mention of the flooded control room, but Malcolm was eating and listening to Trip, interjecting to correct the engineer when he began to exaggerate the report. If being in the water had distressed Malcolm, he didn't show it, and it was obvious that Trip still didn't know about the armory officer's phobia. Finally, Trip wound down, and turned his attention back to his meal.

"Anything to add, Malcolm?" Archer asked.

"No, sir. I think the Commander covered it quite adequately. Although he did leave out the part about thoroughly frying his hands. It was quite commendable that he was able to continue."

The tone of respect in the armory officer's voice was unexpected. Archer studied the two officers, pleased that the change he'd thought he noticed in sickbay was real. More had gone on than they'd told him, but that was their business. Still, he was curious. Maybe Trip would tell him someday. He put that thought aside. Now that he had their report, he had something to tell them.

"Lieutenant, Commander—I have news for you."

Both turned to him expectantly.

"After you destroyed the complex on the planet, while we were waiting for you to return to Enterprise, we noticed a small ship leaving orbit from around the planet. Since we know that the Vericans don't have space travel yet we were naturally curious. To make a long story short, we have three Dorlogians in the brig. We're returning them to Dorlog."

"Really?" Malcolm asked. His tone was polite but disinterested. It was not the reaction Archer expected. Trip's reaction was equally surprising.

"That's good, Captain. Hey, Malcolm, what are you going to do today?"

"I need you to identify them if you can. They're claiming they were 'just visiting' on the planet," Archer said, wondering if they'd understood what he said.

"Oh...oh, sure, Captain. Want us to do that now for ya?" Trip asked, while Malcolm, whose mouth was full, raised his eyebrows in polite question.

"Umm...yes, if you think you're ready."

"Sure, why wouldn't I be? You, Malcolm?"

Malcolm wiped his mouth and discarded his napkin. "Of course, Commander. Captain, is now convenient?"

Archer nodded, feeling a little unreal. He'd been certain there would be some sort of reaction from the two officers. He hadn't know exactly what it would be—delight in the capture of the men who'd set them up, anger, trepidation at facing the Dorlogians...anything but this lack of interest. Archer trailed his officers as they headed toward the brig, still surprised they weren't more pleased at the capture of the criminals.

Malcolm nodded a greeting to the security crewman who was guarding the prisoners. Glancing into the brig he nodded. "The one there, on the right, is Corman. He runs a major smuggling syndicate. All three were at the complex on the planet, but I don't know the names of his associates. Do you, Commander?" Malcolm could have been commenting on the weather. Archer searched the armory officer's face for a hint of emotion, but Malcolm's face revealed nothing.

"Nope. Corman is the only one I know by name, but they were all on the planet. Glad you caught 'em, Captain. I'm sure the Dorlogian government will be real happy."

"Yes," Archer managed. He had prepared himself to deal with his officer's emotions, and now he felt off-balance. The three officers walked away from the cargo bay, out of earshot of the prisoners and guard. "Are you both alright?"

"Sure, Captain." Trip sounded surprised that the captain had felt the need to ask.

"Certainly, Captain. These...gentlemen..." there was the faintest hint of disgust in Malcolm's tone, but no other sign of emotion, "no longer concern us. They don't have our technology, and they're going to trial on their home world. They can't do any more harm." He turned to Trip. "Commander, on the planet didn't you mention something about enjoying chess? Interested in a game?" Turning to the captain he added, "We are still off-duty today, correct, sir?"

Archer just nodded. Realizing his mouth was open, he closed it with a snap.

"Yeah, a game sounds good," Trip said. "I'll get my board."

Archer listened to the exchange, unsure what to think. Trip and Malcolm were already moving away from him, heading toward Trip's quarters, presumably to retrieve the board. As they turned the corner, Archer heard Malcolm add a last comment:

"Be forewarned, Commander—I won't be taking it easy on you...even if you are my friend."


End file.
